Part 45 (2/2)
”She didn't tell me anything else. I think she had said more than she meant. She is like that sometimes, now. It's because she hasn't so much strength.”
”I expect she knows everything we ever did.”
”Well, we never did much.”
”No. And everything we do now.”
”She didn't know about Zebedee.”
”Oh, she wouldn't suspect you.”
”Then don't do anything you shouldn't,” Helen said mildly.
”Her 'should' and my 'should' are very different members of the same family, my dear.” She peered into Helen's face and squeaked, ”And what the devil is there to do?”
”Don't use words like that.”
”Wow! Wow! This is the devil's St. Helena, I imagine. There's nothing to be done in it. I believe she has eyes all round her head.”
”He's a gentleman always, in pictures.”
”Are you really stupid?”
”I think so.”
”I was talking about Notya.”
”Oh.”
”And I believe she can see with her ears and hear with her eyes.
Helen--Helen, you don't think she gets up sometimes in the night, and prowls about, do you?”
”I should hear her.”
”Oh. Are you sure?”
”I sleep so lightly. The other night--”
”Yes?”
”I was waked by a sheep coughing outside the garden.”
Miriam burst out laughing. ”Did you think it was Zebedee?” She laughed a great deal more than was necessary. ”Now she's putting on her never-smiled-again expression! Will he be back before I go away?”
Helen looked at her dumbly. She heard the garden gate shutting behind John and Zebedee, Rupert and Miriam, with a clang which seemed to forbid return, and her dread of Zebedee's going became sharper, though beneath her dread there lay the courage she had promised him.
”And there will be the dog,” she found herself saying aloud.
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