"Ha! Ha! Naughty one—I know you!" suddenly shouted a voice, and a fiery head was poked over the staircase, and Henrietta clapped her hands. "You make yourself useful, indeed! I like that."
There was an evident tussle between Henrietta and a grave, sweet, elderly woman, who was dragging her back.
"Thou shalt not—thou shalt not!" cried the naughty girl. "She's my enemy—she has come! Let me alone, Dinah, with thy 'thees' and thy 'thous.' I'll get at her; nothing will keep me back."
"Thee wilt come with me immediately to thy excellent breakfast," was Dinah's response.
"Ah, my poor tummy, it is empty," exclaimed Henrietta. "Well, I'll feed up a good lot, and get all the stronger, because of that which lies before me. Canst thee tell me, Dinah, where old Pinchin kept her birch-rod?"
"I could tell thee, child, but I will not. Eat this delicious honey and this fresh bread and good butter, and drink this rich creamy milk, and forget that wicked thing called Hatred."
"I'll gobble hard, thou mayst be sure," remarked Henrietta, "but thou mayst also be sure, that NOTHING will induce me to give up my darling hatey-hate! Fancy thee and me—two Quakers—and I doing the hatey-hate for both. It's pretty strong, Dinah duck. Oh, Dinah, Dinah, I wish thou wouldst sometimes laugh."
"How can one laugh with a sore, sore heart," was Dinah's response. "Ah, Henrietta, poor babe, thou dost not guess the sorrows that await thee."
Meanwhile Mrs. Faithful took her young guests into her own sitting-room, where she gave them an excellent breakfast, and told Dominic that there was a very nice hotel quite close, where he could stay for the day if he liked, and could come and see his cousin in the afternoon.
"Yes, do, Dom," said Maureen.