“Oh, Delia!” cried Anna, looking up into her companion’s face, “I do wish I could go with you.”
“It’s too late now,” said Delia, turning away. “Good-bye.”
Anna lingered at the stile. Would not Delia turn round once and nod kindly to her, as she always did when they parted? No. Her compact figure went steadily on its way, the shoulders very square, the head held high and defiantly. Anna could not bear it. She jumped over the stile and ran after her friend. “Delia!” she called out. Delia turned and waited. “Don’t be cross with me,” pleaded Anna. “After all, it isn’t my fault; and I should like to go with you so much. And—and give my love to grandfather, please. I’m going to see him next week.”
She took hold of Delia’s reluctant hand and kissed her cheek. Delia allowed the embrace, but did not return it. Her heart was hot within her. Mrs Winn had said that Anna was not straightforward. Was it true?
Anna had not much time for any sort of reflection, for she had to get back to Waverley as fast as she could, and, in spite of her haste, the bell stopped just as she reached the garden gate, and she knew that her aunt would have started for church without her. It was barely five minutes’ walk, but she had to smooth her hair, and find some gloves, and make herself fit for Mrs Forrest’s critical eye, and all this took some time. When she pushed open the heavy door and entered timidly, her footfall sounding unnaturally loud, the usual sprinkling of evening worshippers was already collected, and her uncle had begun to read the service. Anna crept into a seat. She knew that she had committed a very grave fault in Mrs Forrest’s sight, and she half wished that she had made up her mind to go to Dornton with Delia. She wanted to please every one, and she had pleased no one; it was very hard. As she walked back to the Vicarage with her aunt after service, she was quite prepared for the grave voice in which she began to speak.
“How was it you were late this evening, Anna?”
“I’m very sorry, aunt,” she answered. “I was talking to Delia Hunt in the field, and until we heard the bell, we didn’t know how late it was.”
“If you must be unpunctual at all,” said Mrs Forrest—“and I suppose young people will be thoughtless sometimes—I must beg that you will at least be careful not to let it occur at church time. Nothing displeases your uncle more than the irreverence of coming in late as you did to-day. It is a bad example to the whole village, besides being very wrong in itself. As a whole,” she continued, after a pause, “I have very little fault to find with your behaviour; you try to please me, I think, in every respect, but in this matter of punctuality, Anna, there is room for improvement. Now, you were a quarter of an hour late for dinner one night. You had been with Delia Hunt then too. I begin to think you run about too much with her: it seems to make you forgetful and careless.”
“But,” said Anna, impulsively, “my being late had nothing at all to do with Delia this time. I was with Daisy Oswald.”
“Daisy Oswald!” repeated Mrs Forrest, in a tone of surprise. “When did you make Daisy Oswald’s acquaintance?”