"There she goes again," sniffed Mrs. Pearce. "It's cry, cry, from
morning till night, and nothing good enough for her. It's a mercy she
goes out of this to-morrow. I never see such an image."
"Tell me," implored Annalise, "tell me quick, before my mistress--"
"I'll write it for you," said Robin, taking the note-book from her.
"You know you go into a cottage next week, so I'll put your new
address." And he wrote it in a large round hand and gave it to her
quickly, for Mrs. Pearce was listening to all this German and watching
him write with a look that made him feel cheap. So cheap did it make
him feel that he resisted for the present his desire to go on
questioning Annalise, and putting his hands in his pockets sauntered
away to the other end of the kitchen where Priscilla sat looking on.
"I'm afraid that really was cheap of me," he thought ruefully, when he
came once more into Priscilla's sweet presence; but he comforted
himself with the reflection that no girl ought to be mysterious,
and if this one chose to be so it was fair to cross her plans
occasionally.
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