"Folly! folly!" murmured Sidney.
"And they who says that she had no right to come here, don't know the rights of things—she liked you best of all, sir, and she comes here, duty bound, to do her best. If they says a word aginst her in MY hearing for her coming here, let 'em look out, that's all!"
Sidney sat, with his fingers interlaced, thoughtful and grave.
"You may go now, Ann—I'm sorry that you have put this into my head. It can't be true."
"True or not, just ask her some day when you feel that you can't do without her help, and see who's wrong of us two. And you'll have to ask her, mind that!"
Ann rose and bustled towards the door. At the door a new form of argument suggested itself, and she came back again.
"You're blind enough not to care for good looks so much now—if you can get a good heart think yourself lucky, sir. You've just the chance of making one woman happy in your life, and in finding your life very different to what it is now, with a blundering gal like me to worry you. She won't think any the wus of you for being blind and helpless—she's much too good for you!"
"Well, that's true enough, Ann."
"I don't say that I'm saying this for your sake, young man," said Ann Packet in quite a maternal manner, "for you're no great catch to anybody, and will be a sight of trouble. But I do think that Mattie took a fancy to you ever so long ago, and that it didn't die away like other people's because you came to grief. And if my opinion has discumfrumpled you more than I expected, why, you asked for it, and I haven't many words to pick and choose from, when I've made up my mind to speak. And I'm not sorry now that I've spoke it any-ways."
"I fear Mattie would not thank you, Ann."