She settled herself again to watch; but she watched Anita, not the door.
And in a few minutes Anita did say, as the Baxter girl had said—
“She’s very ill.” And then—“I always told you we ought to have a telephone. I can’t be running out all the evening.”
“Do they come tonight?” said Great-aunt Serle.
Anita answered her coldly—
“They do. Why not?”
Great-aunt tittered.
“Why not? Why not? Listen, little Jenny!”
Anita, as usual, was quite patient.
“Mother, you mustn’t excite yourself. Jenny, give Mother some more tea. What good would it do Madala to upset my arrangements? Besides, Kent will have the latest news. I think you may trust him.” She gave that little laugh that was Great-aunt’s titter grown musical. Then she turned to me.