Mrs Winn had now risen, and stood ready to depart, with her umbrella planted firmly on the ground.
“My dear,” she interrupted, raising one hand, “I know this. Wrong is wrong, and right is right. That’s enough for me, and always has been. Now, I won’t disturb your dear mother to say good-bye, for I think she’s just dropped off. I’ll go softly out.”
She moved with ponderous care out of the room, followed by Delia, but came to a stand again in the hall.
“You heard about this picnic of the Palmers?” she said, inquiringly. “You’re going, of course. It seems to be a large affair.”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Delia.
“Julia Gibbins came in this morning,” continued Mrs Winn, “quite excited about her invitation. She wanted to know what I meant to wear. Julia’s so absurdly frivolous, she thinks as much of her dress as a girl of sixteen. ‘At our age, my dear Julia,’ I said to her, ‘we need not trouble ourselves about that. You may depend on it, no one will notice what we have on. For myself, I shall put on my Paisley shawl and my thickest boots. Picnics are always draughty and damp.’ I don’t think she quite liked it. Now, do you suppose the Palmers have asked Mr Goodwin? Anna Forrest’s so much there, that I should almost think they would.”
“Why not, as well as other people in Dornton?” asked Delia.
“He never goes to Waverley,” said Mrs Winn.
“That is by his own wish,” said Delia, quickly. “He has told me about that.”
“Oh, indeed, by his own wish,” repeated Mrs Winn, her wide open grey eyes resting thoughtfully upon Delia; “that’s strange, with his grandchild staying there. However,” with a parting nod, as she moved slowly out, “we shall soon see about the picnic.”