“I shall say,” exclaimed Kate more loudly, “that I can’t go because you won’t let me go near old friends.”
“Go into the schoolroom, and write a proper note, Katharine; I shall come presently, and see what you have said,” repeated Lady Barbara, commanding her own temper with some difficulty.
Kate flung away into the schoolroom, muttering, and in a tumult of exceeding disappointment, anger, and despair, too furious even to cry, and dashing about the room, calling Aunt Barbara after every horrible heroine she could think of, and pitying herself and her friends, till the thought of Sylvia’s disappointment stung her beyond all bearing. She was still rushing hither and thither, inflaming her passion, when her aunt opened the door.
“Where is the note?” she said quietly.
“I have not done it.”
“Sit down then this instant, and write,” said Lady Barbara, with her Diana face and cool way, the most terrible of all.
Kate sulkily obeyed, but as she seated herself, muttered, “I shall say you won’t let me go near them.”
“Write as I tell you.—My dear Mrs. Wardour—”
“There.”
“I fear you may be expecting to see me on Monday—”