And indoors, Laura could not imagine what had happened to her stepmother. Augustina was clearly excited, yet she would say nothing. Her restlessness was incessant, and at intervals there were furtive tears. Once or twice she looked at Laura with the most tragic eyes, but as soon as Laura approached her she would hastily bury herself in her newspaper, or begin counting the stitches of her knitting.
At last, after luncheon, Mrs. Fountain suddenly threw down her work with a sigh that shook her small person from top to toe.
"I wish I knew what was wrong with you," said Laura, coming up behind her, and dropping a pair of soft hands on her shoulders. "Shall I get you your new tonic?"
"No!" said Augustina pettishly; then, with a rush of words that she could not repress:
"Laura, you must—you positively must give up that young man."
Laura came round and seated herself on the fender stool in front of her stepmother.
"Oh! so that's it. Has anybody else been gossiping?"
"I do wish you wouldn't—you wouldn't take things so coolly!" cried Augustina. "I tell you, the least trifle is enough to do a young girl of your age harm. Your father would have been so annoyed."
"I don't think so," said Laura quietly. "But who is it now? The Reverend
Mother?"
Augustina hesitated. She had been recommended to keep things to herself. But she had no will to set against Laura's, and she was, in fact, bursting with suppressed remonstrance.