“Claudia again, I suppose?” said her sister, with a laugh. “My dear Philippa, you will not stay there long. Now, I am deeply interested in Claudia.”
“Oh, so am I, and so is Harry. Look under the big beech and see for yourself.” Anne looked, and was silent.
“Well?”
“Well,”—slowly—“I suppose the old story is too strong for the new woman.”
“Of course it is—mercifully,” retorted Philippa with impatience, “and, if it comes to that, I say nothing; but my impression is that the new woman by no means shuts out love of admiration, though she calls it by another name, and I don’t want Harry to be its victim.”
“Oh, she will get over that sort of thing. She is very young.”
“There is just one tiresome point in your character, Anne. You can never hear a person found fault with but you must stand up for him or her. Consequence. Sinners like myself can’t rest till we have proved our case. Claudia has come here with the intention of setting us all to rights, and educating us up to her standard; and if you don’t call that conceited—I do.”
“I dare say we were all conceited at her age.”
“No, I wasn’t; nor were you. We should have been put into our proper places quickly enough. However, you have sent my good resolutions to flight with your exasperating charity, for when you arrived I was thinking most piously about our cousin, and had made my mind up to see Harry make a fool of himself, yet say nothing. Now I am all prickles again.”
Anne laughed and said no more.