And as she said this,--could I believe my eyes?--Sarah thrust her footstool out of the way, pushed back her screen, and making a momentary pause to search round all the dim depths of the room with her eyes, went out, leaving us two, Sara and me, staring at each other. What had affronted her? What could be the cause of her displeasure. She left her knitting thrown down into the basket, and the Times lying on the chair beside her seat. Nobody had done or said anything to displease her, unless my mention of the young Italian had done it. What strange secret irritation could be working in her, to produce these outbursts of passion without any cause? Little Sara stared at me with her bright eyes wide open, till Sarah had quite gone out of the room; then the wicked little creature, struck, I suppose, with something comic in my blank distressed look, burst out laughing. I cannot tell you how the sound of her laugh, thoughtless as she was, jarred upon me. “Is this how you live so amicably at the Park, godmamma?” cried Sara. “The people say you have the temper of an angel, and that nobody else could live with godmamma Sarah. I never believed it was true till now. You have the temper of an angel, godmamma. You forgave me the other night when I was so naughty; you kissed me, though I did not expect you would. And now here you have been kind to poor Italian Mr. Luigi, and you have got paid for it. What have the Italians done to godmamma Sarah to make her so savage at their very name?” “Ah! that is the question--what is it?” said I. “God knows!” “Then _you_ don’t know?” said little Sara. “Yet I could have thought you did, you looked so.” “How did I look?” cried I. “As if there were a secret somewhere; as if you were thinking how godmamma Sarah would take it; as if you were--well, just watching her a little, and trying to see whether she cared,” said the observant little girl. “Was I, indeed? was I so? Ah! I deserve to be punished. What right have I to go and dream over anybody’s looks and frame romances, as she says? Heaven forgive me! I’ll go and beg her pardon. I did not mean to do it. To think I should be so mean and suspicious! Little Sara, let me go.” Sara held me fast, clinging with her arms round my waist--and her provoking little face the little witch turned up close to mine. “Tell me first what the romance was, godmamma?” said Sara. “She accused you of it, and you confess; and I am sure a romance is far more in my way than yours. Tell me, please, this very moment, what romance you are making up? Has Mr. Luigi anything to do with it? Is it all about godmamma Sarah? Tell me directly, or I don’t know what I shall do. Sit down in this great chair, and begin--romance of real life.”