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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Won't you sit near the fire, ma'am?" said Netty, gently; "you look cold." "No, miss, thank you. I'm not cold," was the faint reply. She was cold, though, as well she might be with her poor, thin shawl, and open bonnet, in such a bitter night as it was outside. And there was a rigid, sharp, suffering look in her pinched features that betokened she might have been hungry, too.
Then he gave her the deed signed by the Squire, and left; and next morning Netty told the neighbours that her uncle was dead in his bed. 'She must have undressed him and put him there. 'She must. Oh, that girl had a nerve, I can tell ye!
He did not even bow as he approached, but passing close by her he dropped a folded note at her feet, and walked on without looking round. There were others passing now in either direction, but Netty seemed to know exactly how to act. She sat with her foot on the note until they had gone. Then she stooped and picked up the paper.
"What beautiful writing it is, pa," murmured the young girl. "Who wrote it to you? It looks yellow enough to have been written a long time since." "Fifteen years ago, Netty. When you were a baby. And the hand that wrote it has been cold for all that time." He spoke with a solemn sadness, as if memory lingered with the heart of fifteen years ago, on an old grave.
It is no affair of theirs that Cartoner may have quitted Warsaw you understand?" "I should have thought Mr. Joseph Mangles the incarnation of discretion," said Wanda. "Ah! You have found out Mangles, have you? I wonder if you have found us all out. Yes, Mangles is discreet, but Netty is not. I call her Netty well, because I regard her with a secret and consuming passion."
"Perhaps," put in Deulin, hastily, between two of Julie's solemn utterances. "Perhaps she is thinking of her brother Prince Martin. He is always getting into scrapes ce jeune homme." But Netty shook her head. She did not mean that sort of thought at all. "It is your romantic heart," said Deulin, "that makes you see so much that perhaps does not exist."
Renton," she replied briskly; "Mrs. Larrabee's party, papa-sy. Christmas eve, you know. And what are you going to give me for a present, to-morrow, pa-sy?" "To-morrow will tell, little Netty." "Good! And what are you going to give me, so that I can make my presents, Beary?" "Ugh!" But he growled it in fun, and had a pocket-book out from his breast-pocket directly after.
All too willingly Netty changed her seat, and presently she and the kind lady entered into a vigorous conversation. Netty confessed how anxious she was about the baby. She tapped the bottle in her pocket and described how she had made the necessary food with milk and water and a pinch of sugar. "Dan will be fretting for his lunch by now," she said; "I do wish I could get hold of him."
"The millionaire?" she concluded, rather lamely. "I believe he is very rich," admitted Netty, "though, of course " "No, of course not," Lady Orlay hastened to say. "I congratulate you, and wish you every happiness." She turned rather abruptly towards Deulin, as if to give the next word to him. He took it promptly.
The rector himself whistled and sang about the house, and he came into the drawing-room in the evening on the rare occasions when Netty and her mother were at home, rubbing his hands like a man who is very satisfied with the world. He showered compliments upon his beautiful wife and daughter. Never man owned a prettier pair, he declared, and Harry Bent ought to think himself a lucky dog.
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