Then he walked up to Mrs. Bowman.
"Come, come, that's nonsense, you know," says he. "Kitty and Rupert are good enough friends, and always have been; but Kitty's not bound to favour him special, Mrs. Bowman. You can't say she is. And what's more, she's a deal too young for that sort of nonsense; if it's that you mean. Kitty's a child still, and Rupert's another. If he's got into a huff about Kitty, so much the worse for him; but I don't see that Kitty's to blame. However, I hope the lad's not so silly. I've got to go to the station now, and you'd best come along with me. I shouldn't wonder if we find Rupert there, all right. It's been a freak, going off early this morning—at least I hope so; and he'll be back soon, if he isn't back yet. Come along! If he's not at the station, I'll go home with you, and we'll think what to do."
Father went off, walking sharp, and Mrs. Bowman trailed after him in a weak way, as if she wasn't sure whether she'd go or stay. Then mother said—
"What does it mean, Kitty?"
"Rupert has been so—tiresome, lately."
"Tiresome what way?" says she.
"Oh, just getting cross," I said.
"What about?" says she.
"He'd got a notion," I said.
"Yes—a notion?" says she, waiting as quiet as anything, and I knew she didn't mean to let me off.