“I’ll have to go,” said Ethel quickly. “I’m sorry I came so late and had such a tiny visit, grandmother, but—”
“Wait, my little Ethel. Gianetta will order a taxi.”
“Oh, no, thanks!” said Ethel. “I like the walk.”
“Not now, in the dark, my dear.”
“I don’t mind the dark. It’s really not at all late. I’ll—”
“No!” said the old lady with unexpected firmness. “There must be a taxi, and Gianetta will go with you to the train.”
Ethel answered politely, but with equal firmness, that she didn’t want that.
“Come here, my little Ethel!” said her grandmother. When the girl stood before her, she took both of her hands. “This friend—this young man—is waiting for you?”
Ethel flushed, but she answered with the fine honesty that had been hers all her life.
“Yes!” she said, in just the sturdy, defiant tone she used to confess a piece of childish mischief years and years ago.