"I know I'm going to make a mess of things. I've felt from the start that no good could come of cheating a blind man. And after you go to-morrow—"
"But I'm not really going, Fritz. Somebody must do the cooking. I shall be in the kitchen, and my name will be Hephzibah Diggs."
"Hephzibah Diggs!" Miss Finch repeated, appalled. "You're going to be somebody else?"
"Only till Mr. Warren gets out of the house."
"And you picked out that name yourself, just for the fun of it?"
Agatha reddened under her old friend's accusing gaze. "I had to have some name," she protested weakly.
"You didn't have to have that. It almost looks to me as if you were getting where you took pleasure in deception."
As this only echoed Agatha's self-accusation, she exclaimed, "The idea!" with an air of indignant protest.
"It keeps me awake nights," Miss Finch continued mournfully, "the way things are in this house. It seems as if there might be an explosion any minute. You're young and light-hearted, Agatha, and you can't understand my feelings."