That was another voice, evidently the voice of the girl to whom Gracie was talking. Joey forgot all about Morse, and faced John with hot cheeks.
"I won't do any more signalling, I think; thanks no end for teaching me," she said. "I'll go and find Miss Richards, or someone."
John held out a thin, scarred hand. "I say, don't you worry about Gracie," he growled. "Shocking bad form to talk like that, but she doesn't mean it."
"I don't want to be sent back in the car," poor Joey burst out. "It's only six miles—who wants a car?"
She stopped. It wasn't possible to tell John, who was Gracie's cousin, that what hurt so much in the speech was the sense that they all thought her a nuisance who must be entertained as a duty. Perhaps John had really been finding her a nuisance too, when he taught her signalling. Joey's one thought was to get away from all.
"Thanks awfully for being so nice to me," she said, "but I'll go now, if you don't mind."
"Here, wait a bit," John urged; but Joey was already through the door and out in the passage. She would say good-bye and thank you to Cousin Greta, and ask if she might walk home, as it was such a lovely afternoon.
But then poor Joey remembered that Cousin Greta was lying down and must not be disturbed. What could she do?
Joey suddenly entertained the quite reprehensible idea of saying nothing to anybody, but walking home all by herself.