"Get down, Patience!" Mrs. Shaw said, and Patience climbed obediently down. She bore the prompt banishment to her own room which followed, with seeming indifference. Certainly, it was not unexpected; but when Hilary brought her dinner up to her presently, she found her sitting on the floor, her head on the bed. It was only a few days now to Shirley's turn and it was going to be such a nice turn. Patience felt that for once Patience Shaw had certainly acted most unwisely.
"Patty, how could you!" Hilary put the tray on the table and sitting down on the bed, took the tumbled head on her knee. "We've been so worried! You see, Bedelia isn't like Fanny!"
"That's why I wanted to get a chance to drive her by myself for once!
She went beautifully! out on the Lake road I just let her loose!" For
the moment, pride in her recent performance routed all contrition from
Patience's voice—"I tell you, folks I passed just stared!"
"Patience, how—"
"I wasn't scared the least bit; and, of course, Bedelia knew it. Uncle Jerry says they always know when you're scared, and if Mr. Allen is the most up in history of any man in Vermont, Uncle Jerry is the most in horses."
Hilary felt that the conversation was hardly proceeding upon the lines her mother would have approved of, especially under present circumstances. "That has nothing to do with it, you know, Patience," she said, striving to be properly severe.
"I think it has—everything. I think it's nice not being scared of things. You're sort of timid 'bout things, aren't you, Hilary?"
Hilary made a movement to rise.
"Oh, please," Patience begged. "It's going to be such a dreadful long afternoon—all alone."
"But I can't stay, mother would not want—"