“Is it to Delia you have done wrong?” asked Mr Goodwin.
“No. To you,” replied Anna, gaining courage as she went on, “I—”
The Professor stroked her fair hair gently. It was just the same colour as Prissy’s, he thought.
“Then I don’t want to hear any more, my dear,” he said, “for I know all about it already.”
The relief was so great, after the effort of speaking, that Anna burst into tears, but they were tears full of comfort, and had no bitterness in them.
“Oh, grandfather,” she sobbed, “you are good. Better than any one. I will never, never—”
“Hush, my dear, hush,” said the Professor, patting her hand gently, and trying to console her by all the means in his power.
“I wonder where Delia is!” he said at last, finding that his efforts were useless.
Anna sat up straight in her chair at the name, and dried her tears. She dreaded seeing Delia, but it must be faced.
“She was here the moment before you came in,” he continued. “Call her, my dear.”