Miss Mills was very glad to see me, and very sorry her papa was not at home: though I thought we all bore that with fortitude. Miss Mills was conversational for a few minutes, and then, laying down her pen upon “Affection’s Dirge,” got up, and left the room.
I began to think I would put it off till tomorrow.
“I hope your poor horse was not tired, when he got home at night,” said Dora, lifting up her beautiful eyes. “It was a long way for him.”
I began to think I would do it today.
“It was a long way for him ,” said I, “for he had nothing to uphold him on the journey.”
“Wasn’t he fed, poor thing?” asked Dora.
I began to think I would put it off till tomorrow.
“Ye-yes,” I said, “he was well taken care of. I mean he had not the unutterable happiness that I had in being so near you.”
Dora bent her head over her drawing and said, after a little while—I had sat, in the interval, in a burning fever, and with my legs in a very rigid state—
“You didn’t seem to be sensible of that happiness yourself, at one time of the day.”
I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done on the spot.
“You didn’t care for that happiness in the least,” said Dora, slightly raising her eyebrows, and shaking her head, “when you were sitting by Miss Kitt.”
Kitt, I should observe, was the name of the creature in pink, with the little eyes.