Letty was silent. She did not mean to answer.
Agnes went on, growing more and more violent; till Letty was very glad to hear Harry's crutch on the walk outside, hoping that what he brought would make a diversion; and so it proved.
"Here is the worsted," said Harry, opening the door and bringing in a great basket piled up with gay-coloured wool. "Shall I hold the skeins, Mrs. Caswell? I always hold mother's for her."
"Yes, if you like; but I shall not wind them all at once."
Now, afghans were new things in those days. Agnes had heard of them as something wonderfully elegant and fashionable, but she had never seen one; and the appearance of the wool excited a violent conflict in her mind. She wanted to find out what Letty was going to do; but she did not know how to do it consistently with her dignity.
Letty sat winding her balls as composedly as if nothing had been said by her cousin.
At length Agnes broke the silence.
"What very pretty work that is!" she exclaimed,—curiosity getting the upper hand at the sight of an afghan-needle, then a rare novelty. "Where did you learn it?"
"Mrs. Mercer taught me," replied Letty, "I am doing this for her. She has orders for two; and she cannot find time for much work in the shop. It is, as you say, very pretty work, and does not try my eyes, which have been rather weak lately."
"You don't mean to say you are doing it for the shop?" exclaimed Agnes. "I thought to be sure it was for yourself. Why, Letty Caswell!"