Her temper flashed out and you could see ringlets vibrating under the provocation of Sophia’s sauciness. Then Sophia’s lower lip began to fall and to bulge outwards, and all the muscles of her face seemed to slacken.
“You are a very naughty girl,” said Mrs. Baines, with restraint. (“I’ve got her,” said Mrs. Baines to herself. “I may just as well keep my temper.”)
And a sob broke out of Sophia. She was behaving like a little child. She bore no trace of the young maiden sedately crossing the Square without leave and without an escort.
(“I knew she was going to cry,” said Mrs. Baines, breathing relief.)
“I’m waiting,” said Mrs. Baines aloud.
A second sob. Mrs. Baines manufactured patience to meet the demand.
“You tell me not to answer back, and then you say you’re waiting,” Sophia blubbered thickly.
“What’s that you say? How can I tell what you say if you talk like that?” (But Mrs. Baines failed to hear out of discretion, which is better than valour.)
“It’s of no consequence,” Sophia blurted forth in a sob. She was weeping now, and tears were ricocheting off her lovely crimson cheeks on to the carpet; her whole body was trembling.
“Don’t be a great baby,” Mrs. Baines enjoined, with a touch of rough persuasiveness in her voice.