“I have on my black skirt, and I will wear rubbers,” said Annie, quietly. “I want some fresh air.”
“I should think you had enough fresh air. You were outdoors all the afternoon, while we were cooped up in the house,” said Jane.
“Don't you feel well, Annie?” her father asked again, a golden bit of omelet poised on his fork, as she was leaving the room.
“Quite well, father dear.”
“But you are eating no supper.”
“I have always heard that people who cook don't need so much to eat,” said Imogen. “They say the essence of the food soaks in through the pores.”
“I am quite well,” Annie repeated, and the door closed behind her.
“Dear Annie! She is always doing odd things like this,” remarked Jane.
“Yes, she is, things that one cannot account for, but Annie is a dear,” said Susan.
“I hope she is well,” said Annie's father.