“I don’t know. I only guess.”
“Is your visitor gone?”
“Yes, long ago. Do you know, I think grannie wants auntie to marry him, and auntie doesn’t quite like it? But he’s very nice. He’s so funny! He’ll be back again soon, I daresay. I don’t QUITE like him—not so well as you by a whole half, Mr Walton. I wish you would marry auntie; but that would never do. It would drive grannie out of her wits.”
To stop the strange girl, and hide some confusion, I said:
“Now tell me about the rest of them.”
“Sarah comes next. She’s as white and as wolfy as ever. Mr Walton, I hate that woman. She walks like a cat. I am sure she is bad.”
“Did you ever think, Judy, what an awful thing it is to be bad? If you did, I think you would be so sorry for her, you could not hate her.”
At the same time, knowing what I knew now, and remembering that impressions can date from farther back than the memory can reach, I was not surprised to hear that Judy hated Sarah, though I could not believe that in such a child the hatred was of the most deadly description.
“I am afraid I must go on hating in the meantime,” said Judy. “I wish some one would marry auntie, and turn Sarah away. But that couldn’t be, so long as grannie lives.”
“How is Mr Stoddart?”