Helen’s eyebrows went up in lofty resentment.
“Katherine Seton, I—don’t understand you—thank goodness. If I did I should want to box your ears,” she added, in mild scorn. “You’re a perfectly ridiculous woman, and of no account at all.”
Kate’s amusement was good to see.
“Oh, Hel——” she cried.
But her sister cut her short.
“Don’t use bad language, please. My name’s ‘Helen’—unless you’ve got something pleasant to say.”
Kate poured out the coffee, and helped herself to cold meat. The supper was the characteristic evening meal of the village. Cakes, and sweets, and cold meat.
“How could I have anything but something pleasant to say, with you looking such a vision?” Kate went on, quite undisturbed. “Why, I hadn’t a notion you had such a pretty frock.”
Helen’s attitude modified, as she helped herself to home-made scones and butter.
“I’ve been saving it up,” she deigned to explain. “Do I look all right? How’s my hair?”