"Papa, I wish you wouldn't be so harsh with Anne. Young folks can't be expected to think ahead like old folks. Anne's not flighty or silly like most girls. She won't do anything foolish."
"She can't—after this. My God, what a mess you've made of bringing up those girls! Belle was always an obstinate, headlong piece but—little—Annie——"
"Now, papa. Have patience."
"Oh, shut up. It's no good talking to you." James Mitchell turned on his side and drew the clothes high about his shoulders.
For a long time, Hilda lay beside him, thinking. Then, she, too, sighed and turned over.
Life would have been a simple thing to Hilda Mitchell if it had not been for her family.
CHAPTER SIX
"You didn't hurt your foot after all?"
"No. I didn't hurt it. I didn't want you to come and it was the first thing I thought of."
Roger crumbled his bread on the cloth and waited. Anne tried to go on calmly with her lunch, but she felt her face flushing and she knew Roger was watching her, his eyes growing sterner, his mouth settling in that straight line. She felt like a trapped animal, caught between a quixotic pity of her people, a pity seen most clearly in moments when Anne detested it most, and her longing to have Roger confess, unaided by an explanation, the understanding she was sure he had. But Roger sat on silent, waiting.