The flicker of a smile crossed Effie’s face; Sam as conspirator struck her as crudely humorous. Anne saw the smile and understood, but brazened it out. “Of course it’s so,” she said, defying Effie. “Ada’s a poor thing of a woman, but she’s none beyond having a mind and speaking it. I was always one to take the short road out of trouble, so I’ll go along to Peter Struggles’ now.”
“Very well,” consented Effie, and Anne understood her to mean that the crisis, if one had impended, was postponed. “But,” said Effie, “of course, I saw.”
Which was, in its way, a challenge; it was, at any rate, to tell Anne that Effie knew what had been suspected of her.
Anne met it as a challenge. “Well?” she said.
“You were quite wrung, Mrs. Branstone,” said Effie quietly. “I’m not a coward.”
Anne was tying her bonnet-si rings, and found it convenient to look down. She preferred, just then, not to meet Effie’s eye. “I know I’m overanxious,” she mumbled in apology.
“And there’s no need,” said Effie, a little cruel in her victory.
To Sam the conversation seemed to have slipped into another dimension. He hadn’t the faintest idea what they were talking about.