"It is not quite canny, my lady," replied Janet, glancing behind her at her mistress's word, "but I think I can mend matters a little;" and so saying, she touched the logs so smartly that they spluttered and emitted showers of sparks, till the whole room gleamed warm and ruddy with reflected brightness.
"That is better, Janet," cried Fay, delightedly; "but where are you going, Mrs. Heron?" for the housekeeper was making mysterious signs that her lady should follow her to a curtained recess; "indeed," she continued, wearily, "I am very tired, and would rather see nothing more."
"Don't be too sure of that, my lady," returned Mrs. Heron, smiling, and her tone made Fay follow her at once. But the next moment she uttered a little scream of delight, for there, hidden away behind the ruby curtains, was a tiny room--"a wee blue-lined nestie" fitted up as a boudoir or morning-room. The bow-window promised plenty of light, a cheerful modern paper covered the wall, with one or two choice landscapes; the snowy rug; the soft luxurious couch and low easy-chairs, covered with delicate blue cretonne; the writing-tables, and book-case, were all so suggestive of use and comfort. Two love-birds nestled like green blossoms in their gilded cage, and a white Persian kitten was purring before the fire.
"Oh, the dear room!" exclaimed Fay, in a perfect ecstasy, and then oblivious of her dignity, her fatigue, and the presence of the stately housekeeper, Lady Redmond sat down on the soft white rug, and lifted the kitten on her lap.
"I had a Persian kitten once," she observed, innocently; "but I took her down to the cowslip meadow and lost her. We called her the White Witch, she was so pretty and so full of mischief. I made myself quite ill crying over her loss, we were so afraid she was killed," and here Fay buried her face in the little creature's fur, as she rocked herself to and fro in the fire-light.
Mrs. Heron and Janet exchanged looks. Janet was smiling, but the housekeeper's face wore a puzzled expression; her new mistress bewildered her.
The worthy soul could make nothing of these sudden changes; first a tiny woman rustling in silks, and holding her head like a little queen, with a plaintive voice speaking sweet words of welcome; then a pale, tired lady peering into corners and averse to shadows; and now, nothing but a pretty child rocking herself to and fro with a kitten in her arms. No wonder Mrs. Heron shook her head rather gravely as she left the room.