CHAPTER III.

THE CHILD-ANGEL AND HER WOES.

Mrs. Willoughby was in her room at the hotel in Milan, when the door opened, and Minnie came in.  She looked around the room, drew a long breath, then locked the door, and flinging herself upon a sofa, she reclined there in silence for some time, looking hard at the ceiling.  Mrs. Willoughby looked a little surprised at first; but after waiting a few moments for Minnie to say something, resumed her reading, which had been interrupted.

“Kitty,” said Minnie at last.

“What?” said her sister, looking up.

“I think you’re horrid.”

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“Why, because when you see and know that I’m dying to speak to you, you go on reading that wretched book.”

“Why, Minnie darling,” said Mrs. Willoughby, “how in the world was I to know that you wanted to speak to me?”

“You might have known,” said Minnie, with a pout—­“you saw me look all round, and lock the door; and you saw how worried I looked, and I think it a shame, and I’ve a great mind not to tell you any thing about it.”

“About it—­what it?” and Mrs. Willoughby put down her book, and regarded her sister with some curiosity.

“I’ve a great mind not to tell you, but I can’t help it.  Besides, I’m dying to ask your advice.  I don’t know what to do; and I wish I was dead—­there!”

“My poor Minnie! what is the matter?  You’re so incoherent.”

“Well, Kitty, it’s all my accident.”

“Your accident!”

“Yes; on the Alps, you know.”

“What!  You haven’t received any serious injury, have you?” asked Mrs. Willoughby, with some alarm.

“Oh!  I don’t mean that, but I’ll tell you what I mean;” and here Minnie got up from her reclining position, and allowed her little feet to touch the carpet, while she fastened her great, fond, pleading, piteous eyes upon her sister.

“It’s the Count, you know,” said she.

“The Count!” repeated Mrs. Willoughby, somewhat dryly.  “Well?”

“Well—­don’t you know what I mean?  Oh, how stupid you are!”

“I really can not imagine.”

“Well—­he—­he—­he pro—­proposed, you know.”

“Proposed!” cried the other, in a voice of dismay.

“Now, Kitty, if you speak in that horrid way I won’t say another word.  I’m worried too much already, and I don’t want you to scold me.  And I won’t have it.”

“Minnie darling, I wish you would tell me something.  I’m not scolding.  I merely wish to know what you mean.  Do you really mean that the Count has proposed to you?”

“Of course that’s what I mean.”

“What puzzles me is, how he could have got the chance.  It’s more than a week since he saved you, and we all felt deeply grateful to him.  But saving a girl’s life doesn’t give a man any claim over her; and we don’t altogether like him; and so we all have tried, in a quiet way, without hurting his feelings, you know, to prevent him from having any acquaintance with you.”