CHAPTER XIX
SPRING
"What are you doing here?" Stuyvesant asked of Annette. Considerable surprise was in his face and voice.
"Oh," answered Annette, "I have been telling Cecilia Madden that I was a pig. I asked her to forgive me. I feel much better!"
They had met on the long drive that ran on the inland side of the Sound house, toward the main road.
"I'm stopping at a house up the road for Sunday," explained Annette. "Cecilia wanted to motor me back, but I needed air. Indigestion and conscience are so much alike. You want to breathe deeply after the easing of both."
"Yes," agreed K. Stuyvesant absently. "How could you ever dislike her, Annette?"
"She came into school," said Annette, "the rawest little person you ever saw. I felt the injustice of her having money, while I, who knew so well how to use it, had to scrimp and save. I saw her with everything in the world that would have put me into heaven and she was miserably unhappy. It was my first taste of injustice. I hated it. I never was a resigned person, you know, Stuyv."
"How did the girls treat her?" asked Stuyvesant. He was becoming gruff.
"We put her through a refined form of hell," answered Annette, "the cruelties of which were only possible for the feminine mind to evolve. Stuyv, do look what you're doing! The gardener will be grateful to you!"