'Yes; there's been a terrible storm, Miss; but'——
'Go on, Becky.'
'You're not the sort to look like that about a storm.'
'I see.'
If that was Becky's opinion, the storm would not do for Lilian and Mrs Tipper, and the alteration in my appearance must be accounted for in some other way. I was seeking about in my mind for a way out of the difficulty, when Becky unconsciously helped me with the exclamation:
'O Miss Haddon, dear, what have you done to your hand?'
Looking down, I saw that there was a slight wound in it—made I suppose when I fell, by a nail or sharp stone—and that it had been bleeding somewhat freely.
'Nothing to hurt, Becky,' I murmured; 'but it will serve my purpose. Give me a handkerchief—quick! and now another!'
She understood me; and when Lilian presently came running up, she found appearances sufficiently sanguinary—quite enough so, to account for my looking strange and unlike my usual self.
'Dear Mary, what is it? Oh, how have you hurt yourself?'