“She need not know I have come,” said Winifred. “I don’t want to talk to-day, I want to think.”
Just at this time Mrs. Digby did not feel as if she could urge the child against her wishes, even though the wishes were a little selfish. Her heart was sore and heavy that day, and very little talking was done upon the drive.
Winifred sat still in the carriage as she had wished, and yet she could not feel happy or satisfied, and the trouble which had weighed upon her all the day seemed to grow heavier and heavier.
“I don’t believe any one will miss me. I don’t believe any one will be sorry when I go. I must be quick and think what to do for people, for I should like them to be a little sorry and to want me back. Oh dear, I wish I was grown-up. Grown-up people can do such a lot of things. I haven’t thought yet of a single one, and I’ve been thinking hard all the day.”
When Mrs. Digby came back she thought the child looked tired.
“Not very, thank you,” answered Winifred, nestling up to her. “I have only been thinking. Did you see Violet to-day?”
“Yes, dear.”
“She didn’t ask if I had come?”
“Yes, Winnie, she asked, and I told her you were in the carriage, but I did not let her go out. I explained that you were poorly to-day.”
Winifred’s face grew red.