Mrs.Linley smoothed her daughter's pretty auburn hair, and said, playfully: "I think I ought to be jealous." To her surprise, Sydney looked up as if the words had been addressed to herself "You mustn't be fonder, my dear, of your governess," Mrs.Linley went on, "than you are of your mother." She kissed the child, and, rising to go, discovered that Sydney had moved to another part of the room.

She was standing at the piano, with a page of music in her hand.

The page was upside down--and she had placed herself in a position which concealed her face.
Slow as Mrs.Linley was to doubt any person (more especially a person who interested her), she left the room with a vague fear of something wrong, and with a conviction that she would do well to consult her husband.
Hearing the door close, Sydney looked round.

She and Kitty were alone again; and Kitty was putting away her books without showing any pleasure at the prospect of a holiday.
Sydney took the child fondly in her arms.

"Would you be very sorry," she asked, "if I was obliged to go away, some day, and leave you ?" Kitty turned pale with terror at the dreadful prospect which those words presented.