But Constance was not so blind. Constance thought exactly as Sophia thought. In her heart she did not at all justify or excuse Cyril. She remembered separately almost every instance of his carelessness in her regard. “Hope I didn’t worry, indeed!” she said to herself with a faint touch of bitterness, apropos of the phrase in his letter.
Nevertheless she insisted on writing at once. And Amy had to bring the writing materials.
“Mr. Cyril is coming down on Wednesday,” she said to Amy with great dignity.
Amy’s stony calmness was shaken, for Mr. Cyril was a great deal to Amy. Amy wondered how she would be able to look Mr. Cyril in the face when he knew that she had given notice.
In the middle of writing, on her knee, Constance looked up at Sophia, and said, as though defending herself against an accusation: “I didn’t write to him yesterday, you know, or to-day.”
“No,” Sophia murmured assentingly.
Constance rang the bell yet again, and Amy was sent out to the post.
Soon afterwards the bell was rung for a fourth time, and not answered.
“I suppose she hasn’t come back yet. But I thought I heard the door. What a long time she is!”
“What do you want?” Sophia asked.