Lilac did not answer.
“What’s this?” asked Agnetta, pouncing on the needlework which the two women had left on the table.
“It’s a frock for me,” said Lilac. “Mrs Leigh give it to me.”
Agnetta held the skirt out at arm’s length and looked at it critically.
“Well!” she exclaimed with some scorn in her voice, “I should a thought you’d a had it made different now.”
“Different?” said Lilac enquiringly.
“Why, there’s no reason you shouldn’t have it cut more stylish, is there, now there’s no one to mind?”
No one to mind! Lilac looked at her cousin with dazed eyes for a moment, as if she hardly understood—then she took the stuff out of her hand.
“I’ll never have ’em made different,” she cried with a sudden flash in her eyes; “I never, never will.” And then to Agnetta’s great surprise she suddenly burst into tears.
Agnetta stood staring at her, puzzled. She was sorry, only what had made Lilac cry just now when she had been quite calm hitherto?