It was as if Miss Emily asked a question which the girl refused to answer. It was as certain as though it had been a matter of words instead of glances. It was over in a moment. Miss Bullard went back to her knitting, but Miss Emily lay still.
"I think I should not have told you," I apologized. "I thought it might interest you. Of course nothing whatever was taken, and no damage done—except to the lettuces."
"Anne," said Miss Emily, "will you bring me some fresh water?"
The girl rose reluctantly, but she did not go farther than the top of the staircase, just beyond the door. We heard her calling to some one below, in her clear young voice, to bring the water, and the next moment she was back in the room. But Miss Emily had had the opportunity for one sentence.
"I know now," she said quietly, "that you have found it."
Anne Bullard was watching from the doorway, and it seemed to me, having got so far, I could not retreat. I must go on.
"Miss Bullard," I said. "I would like to have just a short conversation with Miss Emily. It is about a private matter. I am sure you will not mind if I ask you—"
"I shall not go out."
"Anne!" said Miss Emily sharply.
The girl was dogged enough by that time. Both dogged and frightened, I felt. But she stood her ground.