"O no—I'll—" Lettice laughed again, and went straight out of the room.
"Did you ever see such a child?" asked Cecilia. "And she doesn't care in the least!"
Lettice fled to the top of the first flight, and there stood still, holding the balusters. Resolution failed for the moment to carry her further. The blow had been severe enough to half-stun her, though not to overcome her courage, and tears streamed from her eyes with the pain—an involuntary overflow: muscular, not mental. Lettice would have scorned to cry for such a cause: but she was stupefied, and five minutes passed unmeasured. Then the parlour door opened for a shout:
"Lettice! What are you after? You little slowcoach! Sissie wants her shawl."
Lettice rushed to Cecilia's bedroom door, and called out, "Yes, yes, I'm coming."
"Make haste! What an age you have been!"
Lettice caught up the shawl and ran downstairs.
When she entered, the other two were again in earnest conference, and they scarcely noticed her.
Cecilia only remarked carelessly, "I do wish you would learn to be a little more attentive, Lettice;" and went on with what she was saying.
Lettice attempted no defence. She sat down, not in her former place, but well in the shade behind the couch, and made believe to be at work again.