"Yes—she would be! Of course I shall call you Nancy—or anything that you wish! I can't be much company for you, dear, tied to this couch, but you can bring a great deal of happiness to me."
A wistful gleam in Aunt Milly's eyes made Nancy lean over and kiss her again. At that moment the door opened and Aunt Sabrina walked in. Then it seemed to Nancy as though a shadow crossed Miss Milly's face. The glow in her eyes died completely. She seemed to shrink back among the cushions.
"Oh, you have met our niece," Aunt Sabrina said in her cold voice and with no curiosity as to how it had happened.
Nancy looked at Aunt Milly and Aunt Milly's glance seemed to say: "Please don't tell her I peeked through the blinds." Aloud she answered meekly: "I told her we were glad she had come!"
Aunt Sabrina nodded as though to approve such action. Her eyes turned around the room.
"Is there anything you want done? B'lindy's washed the other covers for your cushions, but they aren't dry enough to iron. The color didn't run a bit—they'll be more sensible than those white ones, for they won't be needing washing all the time, and B'lindy has enough to do!"
"Oh, yes, they'll be more sensible," Miss Milly agreed wearily. "No, I don't want anything."
There were two or three moments of silence. Aunt Sabrina went about the room straightening a picture here, a "tidy" there. Nancy watched her with angry eyes—what was there about her that had killed that precious glow in poor little Miss Milly?
She rose abruptly. "May I go to my room? I want to write a letter." Miss Sabrina said, "Why, of course, Anne," and Miss Milly flashed a little ghost of a smile that entreated: "You see what life is like for me, so please, please come again."
Upon Nancy's face, as she closed her own door behind her, was a mixture of relief, indignation and apprehension. And a little of each of these emotions crept into the lines of the letter that—to give vent to all that was bursting within her—she dashed off to Claire.