"I sent him away," said Geraldine, indignant with herself for trembling. "I wanted to do this; it is what I came for. The plate didn't break."
The man regarded her flushed face with a gaze that scorched her.
"Break everything in the old shack if you want to—that is, all but one thing!"
He stood for half a minute more while his mother scalded a new pan full of dishes.
"What is that poem," he went on—"What's that about, 'Thou shalt not wash dishes nor yet feed the swine'? Well, well, we'll see later."
Geraldine's heart was pounding too hard to allow her to speak. She seized another plate in her towel, his mother, her wrinkled lips pursed, kept her eyes on her dishpan, so with a pleased smile at his own apt quotation the master reluctantly removed his presence from the room.
"I'm very sorry for you, Mrs. Carder," said Geraldine breathlessly, meanwhile holding her plate firmly lest another crash bring back the owner, "but I can't stay here. I must go away to-morrow."
Her companion gave a fleeting glance around at the girl, and her withered lips relaxed in a smile as she shook her head.
"Oh, no, you won't, my dear."
At the unexpected reply Geraldine's heart thumped harder.