"Never mind."
Then we got into a cab, and I said:
"But where's Anastasia?"
"Oh, if she's quick we may meet her at the railway station," said father; "and if she is slow she must come on by the next train."
"Oh, dear, what a nuisance!" I answered. "I did want her to come with us."
"It all depends upon whether she is quick or slow," said father.
"Well, at any rate," I answered, with a child's easy acceptance of a situation which she cannot understand, "it is lovely to go to Aunt Penelope."
We reached the railway station. Anastasia was slow—she was nowhere to be seen. Father said, in his cheerful voice:
"All right, little woman, she'll catch the next train." And then we found ourselves facing each other in two padded compartments of a first-class carriage, and the train moved out of the station, and we were off. There happened to be no one else in the carriage, but Daddy was very silent, and almost pale, for him. Once he said, bending towards me and speaking abruptly:
"Promise me one thing?"