“Impertinent,” said Miss Haldane firmly. “It is only her size that makes it not usually apparent. If she were a small woman, it would be obvious to the meanest intelligence. And she is distinctly ungrateful. Whatever that man has done, whatever he is, we owe him a debt of gratitude.”
“Oh!” said Anne, her eyes clouding; “she was talking about him?”
“Yes. My dear, have you considered that even if he did wrong in the past he may have repented? And he did help Dickie.”
“Yes,” said Anne slowly; “he helped Dickie.”
“Even if,” continued Miss Haldane earnestly, “he has once been in prison, he cannot be altogether bad at heart, or a child—” she stopped. To her own surprise, the contradictory old thing was defending the Piper.
“Oh, prison!” said Anne vaguely.
“Yes; didn’t you know? Was not that why you were vexed—angry?”
Anne gave an odd little laugh. “No, Matty, dear. To be candid, it was not that at all. Somehow—it’s queer, isn’t it?—I never thought of that.”
“Then why—?” began Miss Haldane, perplexed, vague.
“Oh, it’s a complicated situation,” said Anne dryly; “but—well, every atom of pride I ever possessed has been dragged in the mud, humbled, abased. Now you have the truth; and for Heaven’s sake don’t ask me any more!” Again the hard look crept into her face. She got up and moved to the window.