As she spoke she gave a glance at Sophia Jane. “Did she mind? Was she sorry now that the time had come?”
If she were she gave no sign of it. Her face expressed neither surprise, or interest, or sorrow, but was bent closely over some shells she had brought from Pegwell Bay.
“We shall all miss our little Susan,” continued Aunt Hannah, kissing her affectionately.
“That we shall,” said Nanna.
“Dear, good little thing!” said Margaretta.
Surely Sophia Jane would say something too. No. She went on arranging her shells in small heaps, and took no manner of notice.
“And as for Sophia Jane,” continued Aunt Hannah, “she will be completely lost without her companion.”
Susan looked entreatingly at her friend, longing for a word or look of affection, but not a muscle of the small face moved; it might have been made of stone.
“Won’t you be sorry to lose Susan, my dear?” asked Aunt Hannah.
“I suppose so,” was all the answer, with an impatient jerk of the shoulders.