Faithful are the wounds of a friend.
One very hot afternoon a little later, there had been a glee-practising
at the Hunts' house, a meeting which, of all others, was most
distasteful to Delia. The last guest had taken leave, and her mother
being on the edge of a comfortable nap in the shaded drawing-room, she
was just stealing away to her garret, when the bell rang.
"Don't go away, my love," murmured Mrs Hunt, half-asleep, and as she
spoke Mrs Winn's solid figure advanced into the room.
Delia resigned herself to listen to the disjointed chat which went on
between the two ladies for a little while, but soon the visitor, taking
pity on Mrs Hunt's brave efforts to keep her eyes from closing, turned
her attention in another direction.
"I'm afraid," she said, moving her chair nearer to Delia, "that poor,
old Mr Goodwin must be sadly disappointed about his grandchild, isn't
he?"