"You look happy," said Aunt Jane. "It's your afternoon off— Maybe that has something to do with it?" She surveyed her kindly.
"Perhaps." The girl hesitated a minute, turning over the towels ineffectually—almost as if she did not see them. "I'm going out to Mr. Medfield's garden," she said at last. She was examining the torn hem of a towel with an absorbed look.
Aunt Jane accepted the news without surprise. "It's a nice garden, they say.... He's given you permission, I suppose?"
"He wants me to go—yes.... He's making plans for some new roses and he asked me to see where they are putting them." She did not look at the face, across the table, that was surveying her shrewdly. "I can get back in time," she added concisely—as if that were the main thing to be considered.
"Oh, you'll get back, time enough—I 'most wish I was going with you," said Aunt Jane reflectively.
The girl looked up quickly and down again at her towels. "Mr. Medfield is going—with me."
Aunt Jane's gaze remained in mid air—astonished and protesting. "He can't sit up!"
"Oh—I didn't mean— It's his son that is going."
"Oh—Julian!" Aunt Jane's tone was relieved. "Julian can go all right, I guess.... He's a nice boy," she added impersonally.
Miss Canfield made no comment.