“And you let her go for that?” cried Susan, in a surprised voice.
“Yes,” answered Barbara.
Susan jabbed her big needle into a large sock, with energy. Her friend watched her with uninterested gaze. Suddenly Susan stopped, and looked at Barbara with an expression of determination.
“Babbie,” she said with an air of having summoned up her courage,—“Babbie, I hope you won’t think me officious, but I feel that I must tell you some things. Even if I am not a college girl, I have learned a good deal about common things in these four quiet years at home. You are having a hard time, my dear, as everybody knows. Of course every one talks about it. But I don’t know what people will say when they find out why Mrs. Harris left,—for of course they will find out.”
Susan stopped her incoherent outburst, and eyed Barbara doubtfully. Then she went on.
“It was dreadful of you to let Mrs. Harris go, when she had been so kind. What if she did go contrary to your ideas! Some of them are queer, you know, and why did you care, anyway, so long as your poor family were taken care of comfortably? You can’t get along without a maid, Barbara,—it’s all too much for you. But I’m afraid you’ll find it hard to get any one to come, now.”
Susan stopped uncertainly.
“Do finish,” said a cold voice from the hammock.
Susan looked at the motionless figure lying in an attitude of superior attentiveness, and her color rose.