“Not quite three miles,” replied Magdalen. “Here is some tea to repair you.”
“My dear Magdalen”—in a chorus—“that really is quite impossible. It must be five, at least.”
“Your nearest town ten miles off!” sighed Vera.
“Your nearest church,” cried Paulina.
“Up in the wilds,” said Agatha.
Magdalen felt as if these speeches were so many drops of water in her face and that of her beautiful Goyle, but she rose in its defence.
“It actually is less than three miles,” she said. “I have walked it several times, and the cabs only charge three.”
“That is testimony,” said Mrs. Best, smiling; “but hills, perhaps, reckon for miles in one’s feelings!”
“Particularly before you are rested,” said Magdalen, setting her down in a comfortable wicker chair. “You will think little of it on your own feet, Vera, and the church is much nearer, Paulina, only on the other side of the hill.”
“May I have a bicycle of my own?” burst in Thekla, again; while every one began laughing, and Agatha told her that Sister would think her brains were cycling.