And poor mums began walking up and down the room, squeezing her hands together in a way she has when she's awfully worried.
'If only Alan were at home,' I heard her say. 'Oh dear! is it a punishment to me for having made too much of the loss of that unlucky brooch? It would seem less, far less than nothing, in comparison with any harm to the children. Oh, if only Anne were less thoughtless and impulsive, what a comfort it would be!'
And I must say, when I saw the poor, dear little thing— I can't help calling mums a little thing sometimes, though of course she's twice as tall as I am, but she's so sweet and soft, and seems to need to be taken care of—when I saw her, I say, so dreadfully upset, it was all I could do not to feel very angry with Anne; and yet, you understand, till I could see with my own eyes that she and Serry were all right, I didn't dare to feel angry.
And all sorts of things began to come into my head, and I am sure they were in mother's already. The one that seemed the plainest was that they had been run over: the streets are not at all well lighted about where we live; there are no shops, and the London gas is horribly dull. Still, it wasn't likely that they'd both been run over and hurt so badly that they couldn't speak to tell who they were or where they lived. There was some comfort in that. But— I looked at the library clock, which always keeps good time: father sees to it himself—it was getting on for two hours since they had been out! Where could they be?
Suddenly there came a ring at the bell—rather a sharp ring—and as Alfred flew to open the door, we heard the sort of little bustle that there always is if it is a carriage or cab arriving—tiny clickings of the harness and the coachman's voice. Yes, it was a carriage. We ran out into the hall and saw a footman in a buff greatcoat standing on the steps, up which came two little dark figures, who ran in past him. Then the door was shut, the carriage drove off, and we saw that it was Anne and Serry.
'Oh, children! oh, Anne!' cried mother. 'Where have you been?'
And we all called out in different voice, 'Oh, Anne! oh, Serry!'
But before she said anything else Anne rushed up to mother.
'Oh, mums, it wasn't it after all. It was a star with a pearl in the middle. I was so disappointed!'
That shows how silly Anne is. She had planned, you know, to say nothing about it to mother, and then she bursts out as if mums had sent her to find out about it! Indeed, for that matter, it was only thanks to clever little Maud that any of us knew where they had been, or had any idea rather. For as to knowing, we had not known; we had only guessed.