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Updated: May 22, 2025
She stepped down from the chair, heavily, listened until her acute ear caught the sound of the sick woman's slumbrous breathing; then, box in hand, walked down the dark hall to the kitchen. The rhubarb pie, still steaming in its pan, was cooling on the kitchen table. The dishes from the invalid's lunch-tray littered the sink.
"And I shall never forget the start it gave me that day when I came in, quite unsuspecting, with your lunch-tray, and saw you talking to father, with your pen behind your ear, and your blue eyes and dark hair. Now, isn't it strange? How can one help being superstitious after a thing like that?" "Are you quite sure it was I?" Henry asked, quizzically.
"Not at all. Really good things." "With passion?" "Well, hardly. With cool correctness. An icicle on Diana's temple that would be my guess." "An icicle? No wonder the young ladies don't quite fancy him." "I understand he took them all in a lump so far as he took them at all. Treated them all exactly alike; Hortense was quite scornful when she brought up my lunch-tray.
Emma, who had latterly been looking at Willie with deepening respect, immediately crowned him with laurels on the slate, and then Matty rushed away for the lunch-tray rejoicing in the fire, that had sent her back so soon to the old mistress whom she never wanted to leave; that had afforded scope for the display of such heroism, and had brought about altogether such an agreeable state of unwonted excitation.
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