There were none in the chamber, as it happed, but Father, Mother, and me, when Aunt came in.
“And what hath she to say?” asks Mother.
“She will not talk of the past,” saith Aunt Joyce: “and, God wot, I shall not ask her.”
“Is she very ’shamed and sorrowful?”
“Never a whit. She is more angered than aught else.”
“Angered!—with whom?”
“With Providence, I take it,” quoth Aunt Joyce, something drily. “She counts a miracle should have been wrought for her to hinder her from sinning, and that since it were not, there can be no blame laid at her door.”
“So hard as that!” saith Mother.
“May-be not all through,” Aunt Joyce makes answer. “The crust seems thick at present: but there may be a soft spot deep down below. I shall work till I find it.”
“Is she not softened toward thee?” asks Father.