"But the great thing," Helen said, "is to have people one can't be ashamed of."
"Oh!"
"I know; but it's true. And our father would always look nice and be polite, even when he was dying. Old Halkett—"
"Don't talk about him! Come along. We'll catch George on his way to that shop with the pictures of hearses in the window. If I die before you, don't put me in one of those black carts."
"I don't think I could put you into anything," Helen said with simple fervour.
"Then you'd have to mummify me and stick me up in the hall beside the grandfather clock, and you'd think the ticking was my heart."
"There are hearts beating all over the house now," Helen said. "But this is not meeting George," she added, and rolled her sleeves down again.
They waylaid him successfully where the road met Halkett's lane, and from his horse he looked down on the two upturned faces.
"We've heard about Mr. Halkett," Helen said, gazing with friendliness and without embarrassment into his eyes. "I suppose there's nothing we can do?"
"Nothing, thanks."