XXXIXAnne got home at half past six. When she had taken off her things she came downstairs, to find Lizabet and no Janet. She had gone out to see a friend who had been ill.
“And if you ask me, I think she’s an i***t to put herself about for people like she does. If you start propping people you can just go on and they get worse instead of better—that’s what I think. But I suppose you approve.”
“Why do you suppose that?”
“I wonder why—” Lizabet had a book on her lap, but she wasn’t reading. “Oh, just what’s sauce for the goose might be supposed to be sauce for the—oh, but I mustn’t say that, or you’ll tattle to Janet, and then I shall get into a row, and you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Anne came back from a long way off. She said steadily,
“Look here, Lizabet, you don’t like me, and yo
