'I must run home fast. But
I don't think it's late.'

'Good-bye,' said Biddy. 'I've got my shells; have you got yours? Oh
yes,' as Celestina held up a tiny little basket she was carrying. 'How
dreadfully careful you are! Good-night. I'll ask mamma to let me come
and see you very soon.'

On her way up the short drive to the house Bridget came face to face
with Randolph.

'Oh, you're there, are you?' he said. 'Mamma was just asking if you'd
come in, so I came to look out for you.'

Biddy was silent. This did not seem very like mamma's 'not caring,' as
she had been saying to Celestina.

'It isn't late,' she remarked at last. 'Mamma said I might stay half an
hour.'

'She was beginning to worry about you a little, all the same,' said
Rough. 'Were you with the little Fairchild girl?'

'Yes,' said Biddy.

'Is she a nice little girl?' asked Rough.

'Yes,' said Biddy again.

'Then why don't you like her? Why are you so cross?' asked her brother.

'I'm not cross, and I never said I didn't like her,' replied Bridget
impatiently.

Rough began to whistle.

'I can't say I agree with you,' he said. 'Well, I'll run on and tell
mamma you're all right;' and off he set.

Biddy followed him slowly, feeling rather depressed.

'I didn't mean to be cross,' she said to herself in her usual way,
though she really did feel what she said this time. 'It was kind of
Roughie to come to meet me. They're all good 'acept me. Celestina's good
too. I'm made all the wrong way,' and she sighed deeply.

She brightened up again, however, when she met her mother at the door.

'That's right, Biddy dear,' said Mrs. Vane. 'You've not stayed too
late.'

Rough was there too; he had not told about her being cross evidently,
and Biddy felt grateful to him. It was very nice when mamma spoke like
that; it reminded her of the way her hand had been pressed that
afternoon. But a sudden thought rather chilled her satisfaction. Biddy
was beginning to be troubled with thoughts, and thoughts too that would
not be driven away and forgotten, as she had been accustomed to drive
away and forget anything that made her feel at all uncomfortable. This
thought teased and pricked her for a few seconds, and though she
wriggled herself about and stamped her feet down with hard thumps on the
gravel, it would not go.

'Biddy,' it said, 'Biddy, you know what you should do.'

So that at last, in sheer impatience of its teasing, she gave her
mother's sleeve a li