She marched a step or two away, and leant against the wide trunk of the oak tree.
Annie felt provoked. Antonia's queer glance returned uncomfortably to her memory.
She took her tea, therefore, in greater haste than usual and then, going up to Miss Bernard Temple, told her she was ready to listen to anything she had to say.
"Come, then," said Antonia; "we must have solitude. Where is the most solitary spot?"
"We can walk up this rise," said Annie—"here, where the path is. There is a summer-house at the top of this hill, where we can sit. But I cannot imagine what you have to say to me."
"It's simple enough," said Antonia; "I wish just to inform you that I know something."
"I expect you do," said Annie, with a light laugh; "several things, most probably."
"Something about you," pursued Antonia, in a firm, hard voice.
"Indeed? How interesting!" Annie's tone was not quite so comfortable now.
"I'll tell you what it is," continued Antonia, standing still, facing round and turning her melancholy gaze full on Annie: "you have not got the ring."