Hetty put out both hands; but instead of shaking her sister (as she was minded to do) she let the open palms fall gently upon her shoulders and looked her in the face.
"Then I advise you not to tell him, dear. For in the first place it would do no good."
"Do no good?"
"Well, then, it would make no difference."
"You mean to—run away—with him?" gasped Patty, her eyes involuntarily turning towards the window.
The glance set Hetty's laughter rippling. "Pat—Pat! don't be a goose. I shall not run away with him from this house. I promised mother."
"You—promised—mother!" Patty was reduced to stammering echoes.
"Dear me, yes. You must not suppose yourself the only one of her children she understands." Hetty, being human, could not forgo this little slap. "Now wash your face, like a good girl, and come down to supper: and afterwards you shall tell me all the news of home. There's one thing"—and she eyed Patty drolly—"I can trust you to be accurate."
"Do you mean to tell me that you can look father in the face—"
But here Patty broke off, at the sound of hoofs on the gravel below.
"There will be no need," said Hetty quietly, "if, as I think, he is mounting Bounce to ride home."