Andrew shot one of his fiery glances at his sister, while I was so confused and so angry both at once that I could not say a word. I was going into the house when he called me and asked me to walk with him to the end of the lane and look out upon the sea.
Betty said she would go too, but Margaret called her back rather sharply, to my great joy, for I hardly felt like keeping terms with her, and I was determined not to quarrel if I could help it.
"You must not mind poor Betty," said Andrew. (Why is the most exasperating member of a family always spoken of as poor so and so?) "She has always been the contrary feather in the family nest, ever since she was born."
"I do not mean to mind her," said I, "if only she would not make mischief. But I think it is too bad in her to lead me on to tell her about London and my uncle and aunt there, and then go and tell your mother, as if it had been all my doing. And then—but there, what is the use?" I added. "You cannot understand, and there is no need of troubling you with the matter. Only I wish we had stayed in Jersey—that is all," I concluded, with a quiver in my voice.
Andrew pressed my hand, and we were silent a few minutes.
Then he said, "I have a favor to ask of you, Vevette."
"I am glad of it," said I, as indeed I was. "What can I do for you?"
"You are a famous knitter," said he. "Will you knit me a pair of long, warm woollen hose before I go?"
"Yes indeed; but do you not want more than one pair?"
"I did not suppose you would have time for more than one."