"That was what aunt Barbara said. I didn't say it. She said it wasn't Jack's business. Of course I don't know. They might all have been drowned, of course."
"Ah, it is easy to speak so now, Jessie, when the young fellow is all right in his own room. If he had been drowned, I know very well who would have broken her poor little heart."
"You don't know!" retorted Jessie indignantly, unable any longer to keep up a show of indifference. "I can guess what you mean, I suppose, and it is all nonsense. Of course I was sorry; anybody would be sorry to know of people being drowned—people they knew! But I think it is very unkind to make so much out of nothing, and to twit people with it afterwards. I'm very fond of Mrs. Groates, and it seemed so dreadful to think of what she would have to bear. And then to be accused—" Jessie broke down, nearly in tears.
"Yes, yes, my dear; of course that is all clear and right," pursued Miss Sophy, not in the least convinced, and smiling away in a manner which exasperated Jessie. "Of course it's quite proper and sensible to talk like that, and every one knows what it is worth. We'll all wait and see. And some day, when Jack Groates speaks out,—"
"Speaks out what?" cried Jessie angrily.
"Really, Jessie, I wouldn't give way to temper; I wouldn't really," expostulated Miss Coxen. "It is such a pity. You ought to be able to take kindly a little interest in your affairs from such old friends—such very old friends as we are. We are only pleased for your sake, because we know you so well, and because we are fond of you."
"Pleased about what?" asked Jessie tartly.
Miss Coxen hesitated; Miss Sophy did not hesitate. "About you and Jack Groates," she said, beaming.
"What about me and Jack Groates?"
Jessie was too wrathful now to remember her manners.