Sarah tried, not very successfully, to imagine what it would be like—doing just as one pleased.
“But,” her companion protested, as she voiced this thought, “I don’t!”
“You do—more than anyone I’ve ever known before. It’s queer, but it doesn’t seemed to have—spoiled you.”
Blue Bonnet laughed. “You are forgetting to make allowance for my naturally angelic disposition. I’m afraid Aunt Lucinda wouldn’t agree with you, though.”
“But you like it here?”
“I—did. You see, when one can’t do what one likes, one must like what one can do.”
“Y—yes,” Sarah agreed, wonderingly. “I never supposed you looked at things like that.”
“Another dream shattered?” Blue Bonnet laughed again. “Case in point; I’d like awfully to go on indefinitely along this jolly little lane, that doesn’t belong by right to Woodford at all—it’s so meandering and ambitionless—but instead, I’m going home.”
“It’s been a lovely ride,” Sarah answered; not so very long before she would have said—very pleasant.
It was not until she had left Sarah at her own gate that Blue Bonnet remembered her errand at the dressmaker’s.