Our conscious actions are as a drop in the sea as compared with our unconscious ones.
ANN came round in the morning, very petulant and angry because she had lost half-a-sovereign. This had so upset her that, once she was satisfied that René was not so ill as he looked, she had no other interest, and could only give vent to her annoyance in little splutters of irritation. She sat by René and talked about it until he had to ask her to go away.
“All right,” she said, “I know when I’m not wanted. But I do hate doing a thing like that. I can’t think how I did it.”
“There was once,” said Kilner, seeing how she was fretting his friend, “a crooked woman who lived in a crooked house, and she lost a crooked sixpence.”
“I know that story. Only it wasn’t a crooked woman. It was Mrs. Vinegar, and she lived in a bottle, and she lost a sixpence and broke the bottle sweeping for it. Oh, Renny, he thinks I’m like Mrs. Vinegar! I am awful, I know.”
René smiled at Kilner. Ann said:
“If there’s any overtime to-day, I’ll take it. Will you—be back to-night?”
“I think I’ll stay here if you don’t mind.”
“Will you— You’ll let me come and see you?” She seemed to appeal to Kilner. He nodded. His consent comforted her, and she rose to go. René took her hand and said: