“I will give her a kind message,” said Aneta, “and safely deliver her mother’s letter to her. I am afraid there’s no use in asking you to stay, as Miss Howland is very much occupied just now.”
“Very well, miss, I’ve delivered my message faithful.”
“You have.”
As Aneta spoke she herself opened the hall-door.
“Good-day, miss,” said Tildy, dropping another curtsy, “and I wishes you well.”
“Good-day,” replied Aneta.
Tildy’s little form was swallowed up in the fog, which was growing thicker each moment, and at that instant Mademoiselle Laplage, profuse in apologies for her brief delay, entered the hall.
“Pardon me, ma chère, that I have caused you to wait. I was just ready to descend, when—see! the lace of my shoe was broken. But what will you? You will go out in this dreadful fog?”
Aneta replied in French that she did not think the fog was too thick, and the French governess and the girl went out together into the street. But all the time Aneta Lysle was thinking hard. She was in possession of Maggie’s secret. Her stepfather, instead of being related to the Martyns of The Meadows, was a grocer! Aneta belonged to that class of persons who think a great deal of good birth. She did not mind Tildy in the least, for Tildy was so far below her as to be after a fashion quite companionable; but—a grocer! Nevertheless, Aneta had a heart. She thought of Maggie, and the more she thought of her the more pitiful she felt towards her. She did not want to crush or humiliate her schoolfellow. 148 She felt almost glad that the secret of Maggie’s unhappiness had been made known to her. She might at last gain a true influence over the girl.
Her walk, therefore, with Mademoiselle Laplage took place almost in silence. They hastily executed their commissions, and presently found themselves in Pearce’s shop, where Aneta had taken a brooch a day or two ago to have a pin put on.