"She hadn't got any place to go to . . . So they've just brought her here for a day or two. Lodgers ain't likely to turn up yet . . . And if they do, they'll have to wait, I s'pose."
Jessie did what she had not done for at least ten years past. She sprang up on her knees in the bed, and clutched Miss Perkins round the neck in a hearty hug.
"Aunt Barbara! O how kind! How very very good of you!"
"There's no call to rumple my capstrings."
Jessie released her, but wore a look of delight.
"How lovely of you! I never should have thought you'd be the one to do anything of the sort."
Yes, that was it. Nobody expected good deeds from Miss Perkins. Anybody, rather than Miss Perkins. The fact caused a sense of injury. Why might not she do a kindness naturally and simply, like other people, without uplifted hands and amazed eyes to follow? If Mr. Gilbert had taken the poor woman to the Vicarage, no one would have been in the least degree surprised.
"Never!" repeated Jessie, without the smallest intention of hurting Miss Perkins' feelings. "That poor thing! How glad she must be!"
"She isn't. She doesn't know anything."
"Hasn't she come round yet?"