"'Come, little dove, with azure wing,
And brood upon my breast,'
"That's sweet, ain't it?"
"Hasn't he reformed?" said Clover; "he writes as if he had."
"Reformed!" cried Imogen, with a toss of the jingling ear-rings. "He was always just as good as he could be!"
There was nothing to be said in reply to this. Katy felt her lips twitch, and for fear she should be rude, and laugh out, she began to talk as fast as she could about something else. All the time she found herself taking measure of Imogen, and thinking—"Did I ever really like her? How queer! Oh, what a wise man Papa is!"
Imogen stayed half an hour. Then she took her leave.
"She never asked how you were!" cried Elsie, indignantly; "I noticed, and she didn't—not once."
"Oh well—I suppose she forgot. We were talking about her, not about me," replied Katy.
The little group settled down again to their work. This time half an hour went by without any more interruptions. Then the door bell rang, and Bridget, with a disturbed face, came up stairs.
"Miss Katy," she said, "it's old Mrs. Worrett, and I reckon's she's come to spend the day, for she's brought her bag. What ever shall I tell her?"