Pennie stared.
“We didn’t break him,” she said; “it was you, and of course you’ll tell her.”
“That I sha’n’t,” said Ethelwyn sulkily; “and if you do, you’ll be a sneak.”
“But you’ll have to say,” continued Pennie, “because directly he’s touched his head will come off, and then Miss Unity will ask us.”
“Well, I shall wait till she finds out,” said Ethelwyn, “and if you tell her before I’ll never never speak to you again, and I won’t have you for my friend any longer.”
“I’m not going to tell,” said Pennie, drawing herself up proudly, “unless she asks me straight out. But I know you ought to.”
As she spoke a step sounded in the passage, and with one bound Ethelwyn regained her old place in the window-seat and turned her head away.
Pennie remained standing by the fire, with a startled guilty look and a little perplexed frown on her brow.
Miss Unity’s glance fell on her directly she entered; but her mind was occupied with the cares of preserving, and though she saw that the child looked troubled she said nothing at first.
“If Ethelwyn would only tell,” thought Pennie, and there was such yearning anxiety in her face as she watched Miss Unity’s movements that presently the old lady observed it, and looked curiously at her through her spectacles.