“But, mother,” tremulously seeking for an argument, “I oughtn't to give up such a fine chance to become a horsewoman, ought I?”
It was an unlucky phrase, for Aunt Nettie was there to catch it up.
“A horsewoman!” and she laughed in sardonic glee. “Well, I must admit there's one thing horsey enough about you—you always smell of manure, these days.”
Wounded and on the defensive, Missy tried to make her tone chilly. “I wish you wouldn't be so indelicate, Aunt Nettie,” she said.
But Aunt Nettie wasn't abashed. “A horsewoman!” she chortled again. “I suppose Missy sees herself riding to hounds! All dressed up in a silk hat and riding-breeches like pictures of society people back East!”
It didn't add to Missy's comfiture to know she had, in truth, harboured this ridiculed vision of herself. She coloured and stood hesitant.
“Someone ought to put pants on that O'Neill girl, anyway,” continued Aunt Nettie with what seemed to her niece unparallelled malice. “Helen Alison says the Doctor saw her out in the country riding astraddle. Her mother ought to spank her.”
Mother looked at Missy sharply. “Don't let me ever hear of YOU doing anything like that!”
Missy hung her head, but luckily mother took it for just a general attitude of dejection. “I can't tolerate tomboys.” she went on. “I can't imagine what's come over you lately.”
“It's that O'Neill girl,” said Aunt Nettie.