Frances was guiltily conscious that her shivers were not altogether due to defective circulation.
She made a great effort, clenching her small fists unseen, and said valiantly:
“Cousin Bertie, you know that I’m staying on here because I want to be received as a Catholic next week. They are—quite willing.”
She felt uncomfortably breathless, and her voice caught in her throat once or twice.
None of Hazel’s valour in opposition would ever be Frances’.
Bertha’s voice was most reassuringly kind.
“Well, darling, we must talk it over a little bit. Why so much haste?”
“I—I don’t quite know what there is to wait for,” faltered Frances, conscious of the lack of conviction in her voice.
That Cousin Bertie was also conscious of it was evident in the tone of smooth good-humour in which she replied:
“I might perhaps answer that you could wait to be a little older and wiser and more experienced, or that later on you may reproach me bitterly for having allowed you to take a decisive step in a fit of enthusiasm.”