Did it all point merely to
some mental state--to the nervous effects of her illness and her loss?
When they reached home about five o'clock, Kitty was naturally tired
out. Margaret put her on the sofa, gave her tea, and tended her, hoping
that she might drop asleep before dinner. But just as tea was over, and
Kitty was lying curled up, silent and white, with that brooding look
which kept Margaret's anxiety about her constantly alive, there was a
sudden sound of voices in the anteroom outside.
"Margaret!" cried Kitty, starting up in dismay--"say I'm not at home."
Too late! Their smiling Italian housemaid threw the door open, with the
air of one bringing good-fortune. And behind her appeared a tall lady,
and an old gentleman hat in hand.
"May we come in, Kitty?" said Mary Lyster, advancing. "Cousin Elizabeth
told us you were here."
Kitty had sprung up. The disorder of her fair hair, her white cheeks,
and the ghostly thinness of her small, black-robed form drew the curious
eyes of Sir Richard. And the oddness of her manner as she greeted them
only confirmed the old man's prejudice against her.
However, greeted they were, in some sort of fashion; and Miss French
gave them tea.
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