"Now, Nan," she said, laying rude hands on my work, "drop that needle, if you please, and take the stool of repentance. You've got to make a confession. What have you been about while I've been away?"
"Oh, all sorts of things," I said calmly. "I spent some days at Hobbes's cottage, and I've been home, you know."
"Of course I know you've been home; but I want to know why you went home the second time in so sudden a fashion, to say nothing of your Cousin Agneta's unannounced departure. Do you suppose no one has told me how you escaped from the garden party and 'scorched' into town to catch a train, to the astonishment of all our respectable neighbours! Evidently your conduct so appalled Professor Faulkner that he had to go off to a distance to recover from the shock."
"Oh, Pollie!" I cried, unable to help laughing, though her words touched a sore spot in my consciousness. "How you do talk! Who has been telling you all this? Miss Cottrell, I suppose."
"Never mind who told me. It is for you to tell me the truth, so don't prevaricate," said Paulina solemnly. "You've an honest soul naturally, Nan; don't sin against it. If I am your friend you will tell me all. You need not be afraid to trust me. Although I am such a chatterbox, I never betray the confidence of my friends."
That I could well believe. I had already discovered that, frank and outspoken as Paulina was, her character did not lack an element of reserve. She could keep her own counsel when she chose.
So I yielded to her persuasions, and told her—if not exactly all—yet as much as I could tell any one. I hardly meant to confess so completely, but Pollie's intuitions were wonderful. She understood by half a word. It was as if she could read my heart. Before I realised that I had told her, she knew all. And she was very kind—so kind and yet so amusing! Her banter did not hurt me in the least, because I was so sure of her sympathy. Let me say at once that I never had the least cause to regret giving her my confidence.
"It is wonderful how stupid learned men can be," she remarked, "but if Professor Faulkner can believe our Nan to be a light and foolish girl, he breaks the record. But I can't help giving him credit for some sense. So be of good cheer, Nancy; this will all come right."
Her words cheered me marvellously, though there seemed small chance of any immediate change in the aspect of affairs. Aunt Patty had heard nothing from Mr. Faulkner since my return. He seemed to have forgotten the very existence of "Gay Bowers." We did not forget him. I aired and dusted his room every day. If he came back at any hour he would find all in order there.
In the afternoon Aunt Patty asked me to walk with her to a farmhouse about a couple of miles away. The farmer and his wife were rejoicing over the advent of a son and heir, and my aunt, ever ready to sympathise with either joy or sorrow, was anxious to pay due honour to the little stranger. Paulina declined to accompany us. She said she was not fond of babies. She knew the parents would expect her to hold it, and she was terribly afraid of dropping it or breaking it somehow. Miss Cottrell it was vain to ask, as she would need to start in the wagonette for Chelmsford to meet the train by which Mr. Dicks was expected to return, before the hour at which we should probably get back.