"O no, thank you. Not any more," says Mary.
"You're better for that, aren't you?" mother said.
"Yes—much, thank you."
"And you'll have a second cup of tea, my dear?"
"No; not any more. Nothing more at all," says Mary.
Mother had finished the washing up, and I was at the end of the drying. Mother carried away the wooden bowl, and emptied it, as quiet as if nothing at all out of the common was happening. She made me put away the china, and she rubbed the table dry; and all the time Mary sat watching, without a word, and I was in such a fret, I didn't know how to bear myself.
"Now," mother says at last, drawing down her sleeves to her wrist; "now you've had something: so you're fit to speak, and I'm free to listen."
Mary looked up into mother's face, and then at me—oh, so sadly! I couldn't think whatever in the world she meant.
"If you'd rather Kitty should go—" says mother.
"No; Kitty may stay," says Mary.