Susan was so hurt at this coldness that she went to bed in low spirits, and thought of it sorrowfully for a long while before she slept. It cast a gloom over the prospect even of going home to think that Sophia Jane did not love her.
She had evidently not forgotten Susan’s behaviour in the past, and did not wish to have her for a friend. It was the more distressing because Susan had made a plan which she thought a very pleasant one, and was anxious to carry out. It was to ask her mother to allow her to have Sophia Jane on a visit in London. She would then be able to show her many things and places she had never seen, and enjoy her enjoyment and surprise. The Tower, the Zoological Gardens, Astley’s, Westminster Abbey, Saint Paul’s, and all the wonders and delights of town. It was a beautiful idea, but if Sophia Jane held aloof in this way it must be given up. And yet it was a most puzzling thing to account for this chilling behaviour, because lately she had been more kind and pleasant than usual, and sometimes almost affectionate. It was useless, however, as Susan now knew, to wonder about Sophia Jane’s moods. They came and they went, and it was, after all, just possible that she would be quite different in the morning.
When the next day came she got up with a feeling that she had a great deal on her hands, for it was her last day at Ramsgate, and she must say good-bye to everyone and let them know she was going away. At breakfast-time something was said about going to make a farewell visit to the Winslows, but Susan thought there were more important matters to be done first.
“I’ll go if I’ve time,” she said seriously; “but you see I have a great deal to do, because this is my last day.”
Her round of acquaintances was not large, but the people who formed it lived at long distances from each other, so that it took up a good deal of time to see them all. There was the periwinkle woman, who sat at the corner of Aunt Hannah’s road; there was the donkey and bath-chair man, and a favourite white donkey; there was Billy Stokes, the sweetmeat man; and Miss Powter, who kept the toy-shop. There was also a certain wrinkled, old Cap’en Jemmy, who walked up and down the parade with a telescope under his arm and said, “A boat yer honour!” to passers-by.
The children had made these acquaintances in their daily walks, and were on friendly terms with them all; so that Susan was not satisfied till she had found each of them and gone through the same form of farewell.
“Good morning!” she said. “I’ve come to say good-bye, because I’m going home to-morrow.”
None of them seemed so much surprised and interested to hear this as she had hoped. They took it with a calm cheerfulness, which was rather disappointing, for it seemed that her departure would not make much difference to anyone in Ramsgate. It was a little depressing. There were now only two more good-byes to be said, and they were to Monsieur and Mademoiselle De La Roche, who arrived in the afternoon and stayed some time receiving congratulations, and talking over the wonderful change in their fortunes with Aunt Hannah. Compared to this, Susan’s going away seemed a very insignificant thing, and though they were both kind, and Mademoiselle invited her to stay some day with her in Paris, she did not feel that it made much impression on them; they soon began to talk again of their own affairs. Susan felt disappointed. She would have liked someone to be very sorry indeed that she was going away from Ramsgate, and, after the visitors had left, she looked round for Sophia Jane, with a lingering hope that she might be in a softer frame of mind. She was not in the room, and Susan hesitated. Should she go and find her, and risk the rebuff which was nearly sure to come, or should she leave her alone? This would be the only chance. To-morrow, in the bustle and hurry of preparation, they would not be a moment alone. She stood considering, and then the desire for sympathy was too strong to be restrained, and she took her way slowly towards the attic. She felt no doubt that Sophia Jane was there, but on the threshold of the half-open door she stopped a minute to get courage, for she was very uncertain as to how she might be received. Perhaps her companion might be angry at being followed. Presently as she stood there she heard a little gasping noise. She listened attentively; it was like someone crying, and struggling to keep it from being heard. Could it be Sophia Jane, and was she really sorry? Much encouraged by the idea Susan hesitated no longer, but marched boldly in. There was Sophia Jane lying flat on the big black box, face downwards, her little frame shaken with stormy sobs, which she tried in vain to control. As Susan entered she raised her head for an instant, and then turned from her to the wall.
Susan perched herself on the end of the box and sat silent for a moment before she said gently:
“What’s the matter?”