Maids in the kitchen heard that unseemly sound, as they had heard, awe-struck, the raised voice, and Mrs. Veale felt she must read them a short but fitting lesson on the dire results of wanting things beyond one’s station.  The stout cook and the crisp housemaid soon knew of Loveday’s presumptuous ambition, a knowledge they shared now with the Lear family and Cherry Cotton, and that soon was to spread to the accompaniment of many a titter about the twisted ways of the village.

CHAPTER VIII:  IN WHICH LOVEDAY CONTINUES HER QUEST AND ACHIEVES TENPENCE

Chapter VIII

IN WHICH LOVEDAY CONTINUES HER QUEST AND ACHIEVES TENPENCE

Loveday ran down the path to the Vicarage gate so fast that the tears she had not been able to restrain blew off her cheeks as she went.  Thus it came about that she did not see Miss Letitia until she had all but knocked her down in the urgency of her flight.

Letitia Veale was no sylph such as Miss Le Pettit, however, and she caught hold of Loveday like the good-natured, rather romping, young lady that she was.  Mrs. Veale always said of her that she would “fine down,” but persons less well disposed to her than her own mother, and who were the mothers of daughters themselves, said that Letitia Veale was a sad hoyden.  She had ever a merry nod or word for Loveday, and dazed with anger as that ill-balanced maid was, Letitia’s smile won her to comparative calm again, though it was a calm with which cunning intermingled.  For:—­

“Oh, miss,” cried Loveday, “I do beg your pardon ...”  Then, seeing by the young lady’s pleasant face that she had not offended by her clumsiness—­“but I was so sick with misery I didn’t rightly see where I was going.”

“Why, whatever is the matter, Loveday?” asked the lively girl.

“Miss, I can’t tell you, not now, but oh, miss, you’ve always been good to me, will you do something for me?  I’ve never asked you for nothing before, have I?”

“Why, no, you have not, Loveday.  What is it?”

“Have you such a thing as an old white sash you could let me have, miss?  I just can’t rightly tell you how I want it.  It don’t matter how old, so I can wash and iron it.  Oh, miss...?”

Letitia thought for a moment, then shook her brown ringlets.

“I’m so sorry, Loveday, since you want it so much, but the only white sash I have is my new one for Flora Day.  I have an old black one I could let you have though.”

“Black!  Oh, Miss Letitia, that’s no good.  Couldn’t you let me have the white one?  I’ll work and work to make the money to buy you another, and your mother’d get you a new one for the Flora.”

“Loveday, you know I couldn’t.  Mamma would insist on knowing what I’d done with it, you know she would.”

“You couldn’t—­you couldn’t say you’d lost it, miss?” asked Loveday, even her tongue faltering at the suggestion.