I should say that she is burning to tell me something, but cannot tell it without exposing herself.

Has she opened the door, and if so, why?
I don't ask, but I watch.

It is she who is sly now.
'Have you been in the east room since you came in ?' she asks, with apparent indifference.
'No; why do you ask ?' 'Oh, I just thought you might have looked in.' 'Is there anything new there ?' 'I dinna say there is, but--but just go and see.' 'There can't be anything new if you kept the door barred,' I say cleverly.
This crushes her for a moment; but her eagerness that I should see is greater than her fear.

I set off for the east room, and she follows, affecting humility, but with triumph in her eye.

How often those little scenes took place! I was never told of the new purchase, I was lured into its presence, and then she waited timidly for my start of surprise.
'Do you see it ?' she says anxiously, and I see it, and hear it, for this time it is a bran-new wicker chair, of the kind that whisper to themselves for the first six months.
'A going-about body was selling them in a cart,' my mother begins, and what followed presents itself to my eyes before she can utter another word.