Nor was she better pleased when Dolly, entering the cottage, quieted Randolph and prescribed for the baby and put Mrs. Searle into a chair, proving herself efficient where Angela had just proved herself incapable. It was all done in innocence, and innocent, too, was Dolly’s laugh when she heard of the liberal provision of milk allotted for the baby, for Mrs. Searle had not mentioned the giver; nevertheless, Angela decided that she was not a nice companion for Lal.
“We shall be late for tea, Lal,” she whispered, suggestively.
“Miss Fane will be ready directly.”
“Not for half an hour or so; I am going to finish these things in the copper,” said Dolly, appearing at the door in a large apron and with her sleeves rolled up. No inclement clouds could dim the brilliancy of her colouring; she was independent of sun and sky. But Angela became conscious that her own face looked drab, and that did not please her.
“If you don’t mind walking home alone I think I’ll stay and help Miss Fane; these cans are very heavy,” said Lal, depriving Dolly of that she was carrying.
“I do mind walking home alone, across all those fields!”
“It really is not lonely, Angela.”
“But there are bulls in them!”
“Oh no, Miss Laurenson, the cows have been driven home to be milked by now,” said Dolly, serenely; “you need not be alarmed. But I don’t want any help; I hope Mr. Laurenson won’t stay for me.”
“I’ll take you as far as the high-road, then, and come back,” said Lal.