“You’re sure,” she said in a troubled voice, “that she understood it was from me?”
The moment had come. Susan looked straight back in her friend’s face and answered instantly:
“Yes; I am quite sure.”
It was over. She had now told a real story—a very bad one. Nothing worse could happen.
Sophia Jane seemed satisfied, She gave a little sigh, and said softly:
“Thank you. Then I expect she’ll write.”
After this she did not mention the collar again, but was willing to play at dominoes, though she could not get through more than one game.
“I’m tired now,” she said. “You may read aloud.” When, however, she found that Susan had only brought a book of fairy tales, she was much displeased, and declared fretfully that fairy tales were nonsense. “They’re wicked too,” she added, “because they tell stories.”
Susan disputed this, whereupon Sophia Jane grew so excited and angry, and spoke in such a shrill voice that Buskin came in from the next room to see what was the matter.
“You’ve been here long enough, Miss Susan,” she said, glancing at Sophia Jane’s flushed cheeks. “You better go down-stairs and let Miss Sophia Jane be quiet. It’s time she took her medicine.”