But Mrs.
Mulcahy can be unpleasant at times, and this is safe to be a "time." Yet without her assistance he can think of no means by which this pretty, slender, troublesome little ward of his can be fed.
"Nothing!" repeats she faintly.

"Oh, but surely in that cupboard over there, where you put the glass, there is something; even bread and butter I should like." She gets up, and makes an impulsive step forward, and in doing so brushes against a small rickety table, that totters feebly for an instant and then comes with a crash to the ground, flinging a whole heap of gruesome dry bones at her very feet.
With a little cry of horror she recoils from them.

Perhaps her nerves are more out of order than she knows, perhaps the long fast and long drive here, and her reception from her guardian at the end of it--so different from what she had imagined--have all helped to undo her.
Whatever be the cause, she suddenly covers her face with her hands and bursts into tears.
"Take them away!" cries she frantically, and then--sobbing heavily between her broken words--"Oh, I see how it is.

You don't want me here at all.

You wish I hadn't come.