"Well, that is very generous of her, is it not?"
"Yes. But I don't think she can be really charitable, if she isn't kind in little ways and if she's unforgiving. I asked Mr. Maloney what he thought."
"Well? What did he say?"
"He repeated that verse in the Corinthians, 'Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.' He didn't say anything but that; but I know what he meant, don't you? But, don't let us talk about her any more—I am not sure that I ought to have spoken of her at all."
"You have done no harm. So that accident was actually the cause of your illness?"
"Yes. And just when the doctor said I must have a change of air, Mr. Tiddy arrived and invited me here. Wasn't it kind of him, and of Mrs. Tiddy too? You know I couldn't possibly have had a change but for them, for father couldn't have managed it, and it made him so dreadfully unhappy that he couldn't. Both he and mother were so worried about me."
Soon after that the old lady rose, remarking that she found the wind a trifle chilly. She said good-bye to Peggy and joined her maid with the intention of returning to her lodgings. Left alone, the little girl reflected that her late companion had been decidedly less affable at the conclusion of their conversation, than at the commencement, and wondered why that had been. Had she unwittingly said anything to cause her annoyance? She felt puzzled and uneasy; and, though she had been encouraged to talk, she wished she had been less communicative.
Meanwhile the old lady, who, as the reader has no doubt guessed, was no other than Miss Leighton, Mrs. Pringle's aunt, was walking up the hill towards Higher Brimley in anything but a happy frame of mind. That morning she had spoken of remaining some while longer in Cornwall, and had professed herself quite satisfied with the arrangements which had been made for her comfort; but now, she had almost decided to quit the neighbourhood at once.
She had been greatly attracted by the blind child on the occasion of her visit from Penzance to look at Mr. Tiddy's flowers. And when she had caught sight of her on the beach an hour previously, she had determined to cultivate her acquaintance. But having learnt that Peggy was the daughter of the niece whom she had never forgiven for what she called her ingratitude, she was experiencing mingled feelings of anger, bitterness, and regret.
"I will have no more to do with her," she thought.