“That I do, miss; I wish you’d give me the book now, and I’ll keep it under lock and key.”
“No, no,” said Annie eagerly. “Don’t do that on any account whatever. I have thought of a much better plan. She has lent me the book, for I promised to read her poems, poor girl! and to talk them over with a friend of mine. I need not give them back to her for the present.”
“Oh, miss! I’d be that grateful if you’d keep them altogether.”
“I don’t see that I can quite do that. Still, if you wish it—”
“I do, miss; that I do.”
“Well, good-bye for the present. You mustn’t keep me now, as I am in a great hurry.”
Mrs Martin moved aside, and once more Annie pursued her way up the dusty road. The postern door presented no hindrance when she reached it, and by-and-by, with a sigh of relief, she found herself in the cool shade of the grounds. How inviting looked that hammock under the trees! But she had not a moment of time to indulge in rest just then. Unperceived by any one, she managed to reach her room. She locked the door. She made a quick selection from poor Susan’s verses. She then calmly dressed, washed her face and hands, and when early dinner was announced, took her place at table.
The girls were all pleased to see her, and when she assured them that she was as well as ever they all congratulated her. Priscilla Weir sat at table near Annie. Priscilla was not looking well. The headache which Annie pretended to have was in reality possessed by poor Priscilla. She was easily startled, too, and changed colour when any one addressed her in a hurry.
Towards the end of the meal, as the girls were about to leave the room, she bent towards Annie and said:
“Is it really true that Mabel Lushington is going to read some poems at four o’clock this afternoon?”