“And why should you want so much to do it, if that’s all you believe? It’s because you believe more, or are afraid of more, that I ask you to give it up.”
“But isn’t that the very reason why you should consent? So that my mind may be set at rest? Don’t be angry with me, Bevis. That frightens me more than anything—as you told me. I am not afraid of this, unless you make me so by taking it so seriously.”
She had him there, neatly. And why should he mind so much? He did mind, horridly. But that was all the more reason for pretending not to.
“Very well,” he said dryly. “I’m not angry. I don’t consent, though; I submit. Here; let me carry it for you.”
But he had forgotten his leg. He stumbled as he lifted the table and could only help Antonia carry it into the room and set it down before the fire.
“There; it will do nicely there,” said Antonia. “And those three little chairs.” Her voice was still unsteady.
Miss Latimer looked round at them as they entered, and then rose. “Isn’t this table a little rickety?” she asked, placing her finger-tips upon it and slightly shaking it.
“It’s the one we always use,” said Antonia. “It’s quite solid. If you wanted to tip it, you couldn’t.”
“I’ve seen larger and firmer tables tipped, by people who wanted to,” said Miss Latimer. “I have, I am sorry to say, often seen people cheat at table-turning.”
“You don’t suspect Bevis, or me, I hope!” laughed Antonia, taking her place.