Mrs. Nettley nodded.
"A sister!" said Winnie. "How should I have a sister?"
"Why such a thing might be," said Mrs. Nettley. "Did you never think of one of your brothers getting married?"
"Winthrop won't!" said Winnie, — "and I don't care what Rufus does."
"What makes you think Winthrop won't?"
"He won't!" said Winnie with flushing cheeks.
"Wouldn't you be glad? You would like anything that would make him happy."
"Happy!" said Winnie. — "Glad! — I do wish, Mrs. Nettley, you would go down stairs and leave me alone!"
Mrs. Nettley went away, in some astonishment. And before her astonishment had cooled off in her own kitchen, down came Winnie, with flushed cheeks still, and watery eyes, and a distressed face, to beg Mrs. Nettley's forgiveness. It was granted with her whole heart, and a burden of apologies besides; but Winnie's face remained a distressed face still. The chicken, broiled on Mrs. Nettley's fire, was salted with some tears; and all the simple and careful preparations for Winthrop's dinner were made more carefully than usual; but when Winthrop came home, his little sister was as far from being herself as ever.
It happened that Winthrop was very busy that day and had no time to talk, except the disjointed bits of talk that could come between the joints of the chicken; and pleasant as those bits were, they could not reach the want of poor Winnie's heart. Immediately after dinner Winthrop went out again; and she was left to get through the afternoon without help of anybody.