you? O here you are. Lesbia, take this young lady--up stairs and shew her her room--you know, the little room that you put in order yesterday. Take her up there and shew her where things are; and then take her to mamma's room; do you understand? Miss Carpenter what is her name, Mr. Southwode? Rotha? O what a lovely name! Rotha, if you will go up stairs with the girl, she will shew you your way."
"I will not go yet, thank you," said Rotha.
Antoinette looked at her, seemingly taken aback at this.
"Don't you want to go up and take off your things?" she said. "I think you will be more comfortable."
"I would rather stay here."
Mr. Digby suppressed a smile, and had also to suppress a sigh. This by-play was very clear to him, and gave him forebodings. He hoped it was not clear to Rotha. However, he did not much prolong his stay after that. He knew it was pain to Rotha and better ended; she must learn to swim in these new waters, and the sooner she was pushed from her hold the kinder the hard service would be. So he took leave of Miss Antoinette, and then, taking Rotha's cold hand, he did what he had never done before; stooped down and kissed her. He said only one word, "Remember!"--and went away.
He had thought to give the girl a little bit of comfort; and he had not only comforted her, but lifted her up into paradise, for the moment. A whole flood tide of pleasure seemed to pour itself into Rotha's heart, making her deaf and blind to what was around her or what Antoinette said. She went up stairs like one on wings, with the blood tingling in every corner of her frame. If she had known, or if Mr. Digby had guessed, what that kiss was to cost her. But that is the way in this life; we start and shiver at the entrance of what is to be a path of flowers to our feet; and we welcome eagerly the sugared bait which is to bring us into a network of difficulty.
There was an under current of different feeling however, in Rotha's mind; and the two girls as they went up stairs were as great a contrast to each other as could be imagined. The one carried a heart conscious of a secret and growing weight; the other had scarce gravity enough to keep her to the earth's surface. So the one tripped lightly on ahead, and the other mounted slowly, rebelling inwardly at every step she set her foot upon. What a long flight of stairs! and how heavily carpeted; and with what massive balusters framed in. Nothing like it had Rotha ever seen, and she set her teeth as she mounted. Arrived at last at the second floor, Antoinette passed swiftly along to the foot of another flight. "There is mamma's room," said she, pointing to an open door; "and that is mine," indicating a small room adjoining; "now here is yours." She had got to the top, and preceded Rotha into the small room off the hall at the head of the stairs.
It was very small, of course; furnished with sufficient neatness, but certainly with old things. It was not like the rest of the house. That was no matter; the furniture was still as good as Rotha had been accustomed to in her best days, at home; yet she missed something. It looked poor and bare, and very cramped. Perhaps one reason might be, that the day was chill and dark and here were no signs of a fire, nor even a place to make one; and _that_ luxury Rotha had never missed. Her mother and she had kept scant fires at one time, it is true; but since Mr. Digby had taken the oversight of their affairs, their rooms had been always deliciously warm. Anyhow, the place made a cheerless impression on Rotha. She took off her hat and mantle.
"Where are they to go?" she asked her companion.
"You can put the mantle in one of those drawers."
"Not my hat, though."
"Yes, you could, if you turn up the edges a little. O never mind; it'll go somewhere, and you can't wear that hat any longer now. It's too cold. Let us go down to mamma's room."
This was the large front room on the second floor. Here was a warm fire, a cosy set of easy chairs, tables with work, a long mirror in the door of the wardrobe between the windows; a general air of comfort and household living. Antoinette's room opened into this, and the door stood thrown back, letting the fire warmth penetrate there also; and a handsome dressing table was visible standing before the window. Antoinette stirred the fire and sat down. Rotha stood at the corner of the hearth, charging herself to be cool and keep quiet.
"Where did you come from?" Antoinette began cheerfully. "We might as well get acquainted."
"Will that help you?" said Rotha.
"Help me what?"
"You said we might as well get acquainted."
"Well I want to know where you come from, to be sure," said the other girl laughing. "I always want to know where people come from. It's one of the first things I want to know."
"I come from Medwayville," said Rotha. "That is a place in the western part of the state."
"But you don't come from there now. I know you did live in Medwayville. But where do you come from now?"
There sprang up in Rotha's mind an instant and unwonted impulse of reserve; she hardly knew why. So she answered,
"Mr. Digby brought me; he can tell you about the place better than I can."
"Why, don't you know where you have been living?"
"I know the place when I see it. I could not find my way to it."
"Then you can't have the organ of locality. Do you know about organs, and bumps on the head? That's what is called phrenology. Mamma thinks a great deal of phrenology; she'll be examining your head, the first thing."
"Examining my head!"
"Yes, to find out what you are, you know. She has a little map, with everything marked on it? so she'll feel your head to see where the bumps are, and where she finds a bump she will look in her map to see what's there, and then she'll know you have it."
"What?" said Rotha.
"_That;_ whatever the map says the bump ought to be."
"There are no bumps on my head," said Rotha a little proudly; "it is quite round."
"O you're mistaken; everybody has bumps; when the head is round, it means something, I forget what; whether bad or good. Mamma'll know; and she'll judge you by your head. How long have you known Mr. Southwode?"
"I don't know."
"Don't know how long you have known him?" "I do not know just how long it is."
"O I didn't mean that. Have you known him a month?"
"More than that."
"How came you to know him at all?"
"He came to see us?"
"Us? You and aunt Eunice? What made him go to see you? at first, I mean."
"How can I tell?" said Rotha, more and more displeased.
"Well, do you like him?"
The answer did not come suddenly.
"Do I like Mr. Digby?" Rotha said slowly. "I think I do."
"_We_ do. What sort of a carriage was he in when he was overturned?"
"A little phaeton."
"One-horse?"
"Yes."
"Was he alone?"
"No."
"What became of the other person?"
"Thrown out, like him."
"Hurt?"
"No."
"Do you know who it was?"
"Yes."
"Who was it?"
"It was I."
"_You?_" exclaimed Antoinette. "Were _you_ driving with Mr. Southwode? How came you to be going with him?"
"Why should I not?"
"Why--" with a glance at Rotha's dress. Rotha saw and understood, but would not enlighten her.
"Did you ever go with him before?"
"Yes."
"How many times?"
But Rotha was getting amused now, and was mistress of the situation. "Does it matter how many times?" she said quite unexcitedly.
"He never took _me_ anywhere," said Antoinette. "I declare, I'll make him. It isn't using me well. What makes you call him Mr. Digby?"
"I have been accustomed to call him so."
"Did he tell you to?"
"Yes."
"I wonder if he'd let me? I don't believe mamma would, though. She won't let you either do it any more. Digby is Mr. Southwode's first name. She would sa
y it was too familiar, to call him by his first name, even with a 'Mr.' to it. Mamma's a little poky at times. But how did you come to know him first? you haven't told me."
"I suppose, the same way you came to know him," said Rotha slowly.
But the suggestion of anything similar in what concerned the social circumstances of her and her cousin, struck Antoinette with such a sense of novelty that, for a moment she was nonplussed. Then her