Of course we only heard all that afterwards.
We walked home from the dancing with Miss Stirling. She came with us sometimes, and sometimes mother, and now and then only nurse. For as the class was on Saturday afternoon, it wouldn't have done for Miss Stirling always to take us, as it was giving up part of her holiday. That first day mother was busy or engaged, otherwise she would have come herself.
It was getting dusk already as we went home; it was a dull afternoon, looking as if it was going to rain.
'I do hope it's not going to be wet to-morrow,' said Hebe. 'I like it to be fine on Sunday.'
Anne started at this. She had been walking very silently, scarcely talking at all.
'Is to-morrow Sunday?' she said. 'I'd quite forgotten. Oh, I do wish it wasn't. There's no post on Sunday, you know, Jack.'
She was next me, and I don't think any one else heard what she said.
'What do you mean?' I said. 'There's never any post on Sunday in London. What does it matter?'
'About the brooch, of course,' she answered. 'You see, if Flossy tells her mother what we said, and they send to find out, perhaps Mrs. Barry would write to mums to-night; and if it wasn't Sunday, the letter would come to-morrow morning.'
I felt quite provoked with her.