'Right! no, of course I don't.'
'And do you think people ought to allow them to come into the house—to take them in, and to—to shelter them in short?'
'Decidedly not. I hope you don't do such things, Mrs Prothero?'
There was a wicked twinkle in a merry eye as this was said.
'The truth is, Miss Gwynne,' said Mrs Prothero, slowly rubbing her hands one over another, 'there is a poor Irish girl in the barn almost dying, and it is impossible to send her to the Union to-night, or to leave her where she is.'
'Oh, I'll write an order for the Union in papa's name. You can't believe a word those Irish say. You had better get her sent off directly.'
This was said with the air of command and decision of one not accustomed to have her orders disputed.
'But, Miss Gwynne, if you only knew—' began the overwhelmed Mrs Prothero.
'I know quite well. We are obliged to commit dozens of them as vagrants, and I should not at all wonder if we should not be compelled to have you taken up some day for harbouring suspicious characters.'
The tears stood in Mrs Prothero's kind eyes. She had not much authority amongst the young people apparently.