“No, no, it wasn’t a fall; but I mustn’t say anything.”
“You don’t know anything,” said Mrs Barclay contemptuously.
“Oh yes, I do,” whispered Annie. “It’s very horrid. Major Rockley shot him in a duel this morning for horse-whipping him after Major Rockley had insulted Miss Denville. There!”
“Hush!” whispered Mrs Barclay, whose face was now as red as Annie’s. “Your aunt is coming to.”
“Don’t say I told you. She would be so cross.”
Mrs Barclay nodded; and, after saying a few comforting words to the sufferer as she came to, contented herself with buying the bill-stamps, and left the shop, while, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, Miss Clode wrote a few hasty lines to Colonel Mellersh, and strictly enjoining her to hold her tongue, sent her niece off to deliver the note on the Parade.
Colonel Mellersh was not within, but Cora Dean and her mother were alighting from the pony-carriage, and Annie greeted them with a smile and a curtsey, which made Mrs Dean tap the girl on the shoulder with a formidable fan.
“Here, you come in, and walk upstairs. I want a word with you.”
“No, no, not now, mother,” said Cora hastily.
“Now, just you let me have my own way for once in my life, please, Betsy,” said Mrs Dean; and to avoid having words in the hall, where they could easily be overheard, Cora gave way, and in due time, to her intense delight, Annie was seated in one of Josiah Barclay’s gilded easy-chairs, with a piece of cake in her hand, and a glass of ginger wine before her.