“It will be hard, dear; I do not deny it.”
The girl moved restlessly. “I want to go home.”
“I have said that you may go, Elizabeth. But you are not the girl I think you, if you run away in that cowardly fashion. I am going to leave you to decide the matter here and now.”
In her own room, Mrs. Clyde waited rather anxiously for the issue. Whatever the decision, it was likely to be a speedy one. She was glad that Lucinda had chosen this day on which to go to Boston. Lucinda’s methods were a little too strenuous for a case of this kind.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, the front door slammed again. From the window, Mrs. Clyde caught a glimpse of a hurrying figure, a crimson tam-o’-shanter, even more awry than usual. She went back to her sewing with hands that trembled a little. Was it Mr. Hunt, or the telegraph office?
Just before the noon intermission, Mr. Hunt heard a low knock on his door. “Come in,” he called, wheeling round in his chair as Blue Bonnet entered.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said. “Haven’t you been rather a long time getting here?” He had seen Miss Rankin at recess.
Something in his tone, in the grave kindly eyes, gave Blue Bonnet courage.
She came up to the desk. “I—I shouldn’t have come at all, if it hadn’t been for Grandmother. She—she said it would be—cowardly—not to.”
“Ah!” Mr. Hunt said.