Miss Manners came out into the garden with Mrs. Cuthbert, and as the aunt and niece came up, said she would find the messenger.
"Had not you thought him so well, Amy?" she asked.
"Oh, ma'am!" exclaimed Aunt Rose, always an outspoken person, "that's the worst trouble of all! Who would have thought this sly deceitful child could have made as if she was sitting all the time with that poor boy, while she was just walking all the time with that good-for-nothing groom up at the Arms. How I shall tell her poor father, I don't know. It will be enough to break his heart!"
"It was all Florence Cray!" sobbed Amy.
"Well," said Miss Manners, "of course her father must know about it; but since Amy the elder is only to be here three or four hours, don't you think it would be better not to spoil her visit for him? You can have it out in the evening, you know; but it would be a great pity to give him such a shock at once. Don't you think so, Amy?"
"Indeed I do, ma'am," said Mrs. Cuthbert; "I am afraid the poor girl may have been to blame, but it will not be the worse for her to wait a little while, and my brother would be so much taken up with the matter, that I am afraid my Ambrose would never know his uncle as I should like."
"I'm sure it will all be spoilt to me, any way," said poor Aunt Rose, half choked.
"But you will bear the burthen alone, for your brother's sake and Charlotte's," said Miss Manners, cheerfully; "besides, you have your own dear old Amy to help you to bear it, and that is like old times."
This comforted Rose a good deal. Miss Dora—as she and her sister Amy still called her—said she would not say good-bye, she would look in before the Cuthberts went, and say how the child was.
The younger Amy was glad at first of the respite, but altogether it was the most dreadful day she ever spent. There was her father in his Sunday best coming out to meet them, wondering what had made them stay so long. Mrs. Cuthbert answered, to save Aunt Rose, that they had found the child much worse, and that Miss Manners had come in. This satisfied him, and they went in to the meal Aunt Charlotte had prepared—a very late luncheon, or early and solid tea, whichever it might be called—in the parlour, with the best china, and everything as nice as possible.