"Thank goodness she is gone," said Anne, "now I can begin to breathe again. If there is anything in this world I hate, it is the cry of children and cats; I class them both together, as I don't know which is the worst of the two, all I do know is, that when children once begin, they never know when to leave off."
Then suddenly she caught sight of the Camellia, and took it up, while Amy most sincerely wished she had burnt it.
"Where did you get this Camellia?" asked she.
"Fanny brought it me a few minutes ago," replied Amy, blushing slightly, feeling she was in a manner evading the question.
But Anne was far too point blank to be put off, and had Amy but considered for a moment, she would have remembered how hopeless it was to check or elude Anne's curiosity. She returned to the charge at once, without one moment's thought or hesitation.
"Who gave it her?" she asked shortly.
"I believe Mr. Vavasour did."
"Of course I expected as much. Here are you like some saintly nun, shut up in a cloister, no one supposed to get even a glimpse of you, and yet for all that, you receive more attention than all us poor girls put together, who are dressing and walking, laughing and talking, and doing I do not know what else besides to please the men. You may smile, but I can tell you I think it no laughing matter. Upon my word, it is a great deal too bad."