"Put your arms round my neck. Let me carry you up-stairs."
With a sob she did as she was told. Ashe's library a comparatively late
addition to the rambling, old-fashioned house, communicated by a small
staircase at the back with his dressing-room above. He lifted the small
figure with ease, and half-way up-stairs he impetuously kissed the
delicate cheek.
"I'm glad you're not Polly Lyster, darling!"
Kitty laughed through her tears. Presently he deposited her on the large
sofa in her own room, and stood beside her, panting a little.
"It's all very well," said Kitty, as she nestled down among the pillows,
"but we're
none of us feathers!"
Her eyes were beginning to recover a little of their sparkle. She looked
at him with attention.
"You look horribly tired. What--what did you do--last night?" She turned
away from him.
"I sat up reading--then went to sleep down-stairs. I thought the coach
had come to grief, and you were somewhere with the Alcots."
"If I had known that," she murmured, "
I might have gone to sleep. Oh,
it was so horrible--the little stuffy room, and the dirty blankets." She
gave a shiver of disgust.
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