“Dear me,” said Anna, “it’s just as if the fly had been waiting for her.”
“Nonsense,” I said roughly; “an old beggar like that.”
“I don’t think she was exactly a beggar,” said Anna. Nor did I, at the bottom of my heart.
“Then she was mad, as you said yourself,” I rejoined. “But listen, Anna; don’t tell them about her at the Yew Trees. I don’t want Yvonne’s birthday spoilt any more. Do you hear, Anna?—you’re not to tell.”
Anna hesitated. “I don’t see that it would spoil the birthday,” she said; “and perhaps—”
“It would spoil it to me,” I said, “if you care about that. Of course you’d tell them I was rude to the old woman, and they’d be all down upon me. I don’t deny I was rude; I’ve been too vexed by other things to be in a good temper.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Anna, her kind heart at once touched. “No, I won’t say anything about it then. The only thing was—are you sure it isn’t anything that matters? Suppose she really had some message for Captain or Mrs Whyte?”
“We didn’t stop her going on if she had. At least I only told her they wouldn’t be bothered with her, and you said they were busy to-day. That wouldn’t have stopped her if it was anything real.”
“N-no, I suppose not,” said Anna. She was very slow at seeing things, and I could generally overrule her, in the first place, any way. So, though she was plainly not quite satisfied, she gave in.