'Oh, my dear, dear Anna, I'm so glad you've come back!' She dried her eyes, and in quite a different tone of voice asked: 'Has Mr. Mynors proposed to you?'
Anna could not avoid a blush at this simple and astounding query. She said: 'Yes.' It was the one word of which she was capable, under the circumstances. That was not the moment to tax Agnes with too much precocity and abruptness.
'You're engaged, then? Oh, Anna, does it feel nice? It must. I knew you would be!'
'I mean I knew he would ask you, some time. All the girls at school knew too.'
'I hope you didn't talk about it,' said the elder sister.
'Oh, _no_! But they did; they were always talking about it.'
'I--I didn't like to. Anna, shall I have to call him Henry now?'
'Yes, of course. When we're married he will be your brother-in-law.'
'When you are--shall I keep house alone? I can, you know---- I shall never _dare_ to call him Henry. But he's awfully nice; isn't he, Anna? Yes, when you are married, I shall keep house here, but I shall come to see you every day. Father will _have_ to let me do that. Does father know you're engaged?'
'Not yet. And you mustn't say anything. Henry is coming for supper. And then father will be told.'
'No, silly! Henry, of course--I mean when he'd asked you?'
'I think you are asking all the questions. Suppose I ask you some now. How have you managed with father? Has he been nice?'
'Some days--yes,' said Agnes, after thinking a moment. 'We have had some new cups and saucers up from Mr. Mynors works. And father has swept the kitchen chimney. And, oh Anna! I asked him to-day if I'd kept house well, and he said "Pretty well," and he gave me a penny. Look! It's the first money I've ever had, you know. I wanted you at nights, Anna--and all the time, too. I've been frightfully busy. I cleaned silvers all afternoon. Anna, I _have_ tried---- And I've got some tea for you. I'll go down and make it. Now you mustn't come into the kitchen. I'll bring it to you in the parlour.'
'I had my tea at Crewe,' Anna was about to say, but refrained, in due course drinking the cup prepared by Agnes. She felt passionately sorry for Agnes, too young to feel the shadow which overhung her future. Anna would marry into freedom, but Agnes would remain the serf. Would Agnes marry? Could she? Would her father allow it? Anna had noticed that in families the youngest, petted in childhood, was often sacrificed in maturity. It was the last maid who must keep her maidenhood, and, vicariously filial, pay out of her own life the debt of all the rest.