"She may do her work," said Bessie, my daughter, "but I dislike inquisitiveness."
"Inquisitiveness!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? Has she been looking into your drawers?"
"No, mamma, but she watches me. It is hot weather now, and when I am in my room, occasionally, I leave my door open whilst writing a letter, or doing any little bit of needlework, and then I am almost certain to hear her outside. If I turn sharply round, I see her slipping out of sight. It is most annoying. I really was unaware that I was such an interesting personage as to make it worth anyone's while to spy out my proceedings."
"Nonsense, my dear. You are sure it is Jane?"
"Well—I suppose so." There was a slight hesitation in her voice. "If not Jane, who can it be?"
"Are you sure it is not cook?"
"Oh, no, it is not cook; she is busy in the kitchen. I have heard her there, when I have gone outside my room upon the landing, after having caught that girl watching me."
"If you have caught her," said I, "I suppose you spoke to her about the impropriety of her conduct."
"Well, caught is the wrong word. I have not actually caught her at it. Only to-day I distinctly heard her at my door, and I saw her back as she turned to run away, when I went towards her."
"But you followed her, of course?"