“You upheld her, no doubt,” declared Mrs. Wadsworth.
“I sympathized with her as they who never had a pain can feel for the sick,” said Tessa, smiling into her father’s eyes.
“How did you talk to her?” asked Dine.
“What is talk? I only told her to wait and she would know.”
“It’s easy to talk,” said Mrs. Wadsworth uncomfortably. “You can talk an hour about sympathy, but you didn’t run out to Freddie Stone.”
“Why didn’t you?” inquired her father seriously.
Tessa laughed, while Dine answered.
“Mother was there talking as fast as she could talk, Bridget was there with a basin of water and a sponge, Mrs. Bird had run over, a carriage with two ladies, a coachman and a footman had stopped to look on, and oh, I was there too. He was somewhat bloody.”
“You are excused, daughter. Save your energies for a time of greater need.”
“Energies! Need!” tartly exclaimed Mrs. Wadsworth. “If she begins to be literary, she will care for nothing else.”