To me she said, in a voice that matched her look: "Beatrice, come into the house."
I went into the drawing-room.
She followed me.
Then the storm broke!
Of all the many "rows" I've had since I came to live with Aunt Anastasia, this did, as Million would have said, "take the bun."
"Beatrice!" She threw my name at me as if it had been a glove thrown in my face. "Beatrice! Little cause as I have to think well of you, I did at least trust you!"
"You've no reason, Auntie," said I, holding myself as stiff as she did (which was pretty ramroddy). "You've no reason not to trust me."
"What?" A bitter little laugh. "No sooner is my back turned, no sooner have I left you alone in the house, than you betray my confidence. How do I find you, after all that I said to you only the other evening on this same subject? Standing there on the doorstep, just as if you'd been poor Million, poor little gutter-bred upstart, preparing to receive——"
"I wasn't 'preparing to receive' anybody!" hotly from me.
"No?" with icy satire from Aunt Anastasia. "You were not even going to ask the young man in? You stood there, like a scullery-maid indulging in a vulgar flirtation with a policeman."