"Not for worlds," interposed Sister Ann, really meaning it. But John, at the hospitable suggestion, had moved away.
"I have come over to ask you if you'll be good enough to let me have a small pot of currant jelly, Mrs. Bent," continued the Grey Sister. "It is for Sister Mildred, poor thing----"
"Is she no better?" interrupted Mrs. Bent.
"Not a bit. And her lips are so parched, poor lady, and her deafness is so worrying----"
"Oh, as to her deafness, that'll never be better," cried Mrs. Bent. "It will get worse as she grows older."
"It can't be much worse than it is: it has always been bad," returned Sister Ann, who seemed slightly to resent the fact of the deafness. "We have had a good bit of sickness in the village, and our black currant jelly is all gone: not that we made much, being so poor. If you will let me buy a pot from you, Mrs. Bent, we shall be glad."
For answer, Mrs. Bent left her shrimps, unlocked a corner cupboard, and put two small pots of jelly into the Sister's hand.
"I am not sure that I can afford both to-day," said Sister Ann, dubiously. "How much are they?"
"Nothing," returned Mrs. Bent. "Not one farthing will I take from the ladies: I'm always glad to do the little I can for any of you. Give them to Sister Mildred with my respects; and say, please, that when I've done my shrimps I'll bring her over a pot of them. I was intending to do it before you came in."
The landlord returned with something in a wine-glass, and stopped the Sister's thanks by making her drink it. Putting the jelly in her basket, Sister Ann, who had no time to stay for a longer gossip that day, gratefully departed.