“Mr. David,” it appeared, had just slipped down to the kitchen, by whose sociable tea table Maria had been seated, to send someone up to Miss Gabrielle. Maria moved about the big chamber capably and not too silently, and Gabrielle felt her fears dissipate under the wholesome companionship. She managed a sort of sponge bath in the dressing room when Maria went downstairs for more hot water, this time in a rubber bag.

“Tell me about Margret, Maria. She’s not here any more?” Gabrielle questioned, when the maid came back. The girl was seated on her bed now, in her nightgown, brushing the long thick masses of her bright hair.

“She lives with her daughter in Keyport, mostly: she’s here nearly every day, though,” said Maria, folding and straightening capably. “She’s ’most eighty, Margret is.”

“She was my first nurse, when I came here as a baby with my mother,” Gabrielle said. “Such an old darling! My mother was—delicate, you know. She was Mrs. Fleming’s sister.”

“Sure, but that was before I come here,” Maria reminded her, with her pitted, plain face full of interest. “You don’t look like Miss Sylvia,” she added, mildly.

[35]“Oh, no! She’s like all the Flemings—dark. Is she pretty?” Gabrielle demanded.

[35]

“They say she’s what you call a beauty,” Maria stated, dispassionately. Gabrielle felt a little thrill of interest, perhaps of more, the beginning of a jealous stir at her heart. When Maria had gone she sat on, cross-legged on her bed, in her shabby old convent wrapper, absent-mindedly brushing her hair, with her wide-awake eyes staring into the shadows of the stately old chamber.

Sylvia was “what you call a beauty.” Sylvia would have this whole place some day—would own Wastewater. Wastewater, the house that Gabrielle naturally thought the most interesting and important place in the world.

What did David think about Sylvia? Gabrielle wondered. He had sat there by the fire, with his handsome head bent a little to one side, and his hands linked, and a half smile upon his handsome face. He had glanced up at Gabrielle now and then, and always with a kindly smile. Was Sylvia to have David, too, with everything else?

But Gabrielle would not think about David. She dismissed him with a fervent, “I hope I won’t like him as well to-morrow! I hope he’s really horrid and disappointing!” and knelt down to say her prayers. 

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