“He's real nice-lookin', ain't he?
“Yes.”
“Have you got your eye on anybody else?”
“No.”
“Then, Miss Thorne, I don't know's you could do better.”
“Perhaps not.” She was thinking, and spoke mechanically. From where she stood she could still see him walking rapidly down the hill.
“Ain't you never seen him before?”
Miss Thorne turned. “Hepsey,” she said, coldly, “please go into the kitchen and attend to your work. And the next time I have company, please stay in the kitchen—not in the dining-room.”
“Yes'm,” replied Hepsey, meekly, hastening to obey.
She was not subtle, but she understood that in some way she had offended Miss Thorne, and racked her brain vainly. She had said nothing that she would not have said to Miss Hathaway, and had intended nothing but friendliness. As for her being in the dining-room—why, very often, when Miss Hathaway had company, she was called in to give her version of some bit of village gossip. Miss Hathaway scolded her when she was displeased, but never before had any one spoken to Hepsey in a measured, icy tone that was at once lady-like and commanding. Tears came into her eyes, for she was sensitive, after all.