A few days after this Queenie was returning from afternoon school when Emmie met her at the door of the cottage with her finger on her lip and a general air of mystery about her.
"What is it, Emmie?" asked her sister somewhat wearily. "Run in out of the cold air, darling, it is making you cough, I see."
"Why is it so dreadfully cold, I wonder?" returned the child shivering. "The winter is over, and yet the wind seems to blow right through one. Who do you think is in there, Queen? actually Miss Cunningham. She has been sitting there nearly an hour, I believe."
"Miss Cunningham!" unable to believe her ears; for Langley, with intentional kindness, had not informed her of her return.
"Yes; Miss Cunningham. Oh!" dropping her voice to a whisper, "she has tired me so. She is nice and pretty, and has blue eyes like our kitten's; but somehow I can't like her. She asked me such lots of questions all about Uncle Andrew and our being rich; but, do you know, I don't think she quite liked your lending Mr. Garth that money."
"Oh, Emmie, you never told her that?" in such a horrified voice that the child looked frightened.
"Was it such a great secret? I didn't know you would mind," faltered Emmie; "and she was saying such nice things about Mr. Garth."
"Yes, it was a secret," returned Queenie more calmly. "Don't you remember we are not to let 'our left hand know what our right hand doeth'? But never mind, it is done now," for Emmie's eyes were already filling with tears at the notion of Queenie's displeasure. "Run and tell Patience to have her kettle boiling; I dare say Miss Cunningham will like some tea."
"May I stay and help Patience? there are some muffins, and I meant to toast them myself," and, as Queenie nodded assent, Emmie stole down the little passage noiselessly and shut herself up safely with Patience.
As Queenie walked into the room very erect and open-eyed she did not fail to notice that Miss Cunningham had already made herself at home. Her sealskin jacket lay on the chair beside her, and her little furred gauntlets also. Her golden hair shone under her beaver hat; the dark close-fitting dress suited her to a nicety. But as she came forward, holding out her hand, it struck Queenie that she looked somewhat pale, and that her smile was a little forced.