"But where?"
"I don't know." In spite of herself there was a certain unnecessary defiance in Hilda's voice.
"You don't know, dear?" Sarah Gailey suddenly ceased rocking, and glanced at Hilda with the mournful expression of acute worry that was so terribly familiar on her features. Although it was notorious that baseless apprehensions were a part of Sarah's disease, nevertheless Hilda could never succeed in treating any given apprehension as quite baseless. And now Sarah's mere tone begot in Hilda's self-consciousness a vague alarm.
She continued busy with her gloves, silent.
"And on Saturday afternoon too, when everybody's abroad!" Sarah Gailey added gloomily, with her involuntary small movements of the head.
"He asked me if I could go out with him for a minute or two at once," said Hilda, and picked up the parasol with a decisive gesture.
"There's a great deal too much talk about you and George as it is," said Sarah with an acrid firmness.
"Talk about me and--!" Hilda cried, absolutely astounded.
She had no feeling of guilt, but she knew that she was looking guilty, and this knowledge induced in her the actual sensations of a criminal.
"I'm sure I don't want--" Sarah Gailey began, and was interrupted by a quiet tap at the door.