“I will call in and leave a message with Mr Goodwin,” she said, “and you had better lie down quietly in your own room. By the time I get back you will be better, I hope.”
But Aunt Sarah had hardly been gone ten minutes before there was a knock at Anna’s door:
“Mrs Winn would like to speak to you, miss. I told her you were not well, but she says she will only keep you a few minutes.”
Anna did not know much of Mrs Winn, and thought, as she went down-stairs, that she had most likely some message for Mrs Forrest to leave with her. Would she say anything about the picnic, or the people who were going to it?
Mrs Winn had taken up a determined position on a stiff, straight-backed chair in the middle of the room. There was severity in her glance as she replied to Anna’s greeting, and remarked that she was sorry to miss Mrs Forrest.
“Aunt Sarah’s only just started to drive into Dornton,” said Anna; “I wonder you did not meet her.”
“I came by the fields,” replied Mrs Winn shortly. “You were not well enough to go out, I hear?”
“I had a headache,” said Anna, with her pretty blush; “aunt thought I had better stay at home.”
“You don’t look much the worse for it,” said Mrs Winn, without removing her unblinking gaze. “Girls in my young days didn’t have headaches, or if they did, they put up with them, and did their duty in spite of them. Things are turned topsy-turvy now, and it’s the old who give way to the young.”
Surprised at this tone of reproof, for which she was quite unprepared, Anna’s usually ready speech deserted her. She said nothing, and hoped that Mrs Winn would soon go away. But that was evidently not her intention just yet: she had come prepared to say what was on her mind, and she would sit there until it was said.