“Yes, Mamma.” Cornelia had resumed her armour; her look was moody and her tone fatigued.
“Cornelia, I am asking you where you lunched.”
“I said, ‘Nowhere in particular,’ Mamma.”
“I know you did.” And upon this Mrs. Cromwell’s voice trembled a little. “I wish you to tell me the truth, Cornelia.”
Cornelia stood before her, apparently imperturbable, with passive eyes evasive; and Mrs. Cromwell, not knowing that her daughter’s knees were trembling, began to speak with the severity she felt.
“Cornelia, your father and I have been talking in the library, and we’ve made up our minds this sort of thing must come to a stop.”
“What sort of thing?”
“This rudeness of yours, this moodiness and secretiveness.”
“I’m not secretive.”
“You are. You’re an entirely changed girl. Last year you’d no more have done what you’re doing now than you’d have flown!”