Milly's own private affairs--in connection with a good-looking fellow, formerly a gardener at Bowness, now recently enlisted in one of the Border regiments--had caused her to take a special interest in the information, and had perhaps led her to put a bunch of monthly roses on Mrs.Sarratt's dressing-table.

Miss Cookson hadn't bothered herself about flowers.

That she might have done!--instead of fussing over things that didn't concern her--just for the sake of ordering people about.
When the little red-haired maid had left the room, the lady she disliked returned to the window, and stood there absorbed in reflections that were not gay, to judge from the furrowed brow and pinched lips that accompanied them.

Bridget Cookson was about thirty; not precisely handsome, but at the same time, not ill-looking.

Her eyes were large and striking, and she had masses of dark hair, tightly coiled about her head as though its owner felt it troublesome and in the way.