“Nell, Nell, come out here, and speak to me.”
Nell looked at her, hesitated, and was on the point of disappearing into the interior of the house, when Meg, who was passing towards the bar-parlor, with a tray full of hot drinks, officiously dragged her forward with one strong hand, while she carefully balanced the glasses on the tray with the other.
“It’s Miss Theodora, don’t you see, Miss Nell?” said she in a loud whisper.
And Nell, unable now to pretend that she never heard nor saw, went out into the road.
“Why, Nell, how is this? Is this the way you treat your old friend? I didn’t even know you were back again, and I haven’t heard a word from you for all these weeks and weeks. What does it mean, my dear? Now tell me what it means? I am afraid you are not happy. I am afraid you bear me malice about—Mr. King.”
Nell was cold, shy, awkward, a different creature altogether from the girl Miss Bostal had known and loved.
“Oh, that is all over,” she answered quickly. “I don’t suppose I shall ever see Mr. King again.”
Miss Theodora seemed rather distressed to hear this. Now that her protégée, Jem Stickels was dead, she could afford to withdraw her objection to his rival.
“But why not, but why not, my dear?” she urged earnestly. “I thought you were so fond of him!”
And the little woman, who had got out of the carriage to go in search of her neglectful friend, drew round her more closely the woollen shawl which was hardly sufficient protection against the falling snow.