Missy regarded the convalescent; she seemed quite cheerful now, though wan. And not so lovely as she generally did. Missy couldn't forbear a leading remark.
“I'm terribly sorry Mr. Saunders had to go away so soon.” She strove for sympathetic tone, but felt inexpert and self-conscious. “Terribly sorry. I can't—”
And then, suddenly, Aunt Isabel laughed—laughed!—and said a surprising thing.
“What! You, too, Missy? Oh, that's too funny!”
Missy stared—reproach, astonishment, bewilderment, contending in her expression.
Aunt Isabel continued that delighted gurgle.
“Mr. Saunders is a notorious heart-breaker—but I didn't realize he was capturing yours so speedily!”
Striving to keep her dignity, Missy perhaps made her tone more severe than she intended.
“Well,” she accused, “didn't he capture yours, Aunt Isabel?”
Then Aunt Isabel, still laughing a little, but with a serious shade creeping into her eyes, reached out for one of Missy's hands and smoothed it gently between her own.