"Trouble in winding a clock! What trouble could there be in that? And it is never wound until Saturday evening. For twenty years I have wound it on Saturday evening. A good eight-day clock nearly fifty years old can't bear being tampered with. Now, Penelope, why did you do that? You know that I can't endure old rules to be upset."
"But, my dear Priscilla, I only thought as I was passing——"
"You thought, Penelope; but I wish you wouldn't think. There are other things you ought to think about that you often neglect; and——"
"Now, Priscilla, is that just? I think—I hope I seldom neglect my duty; and I must say I didn't expect this from you."
Here Miss Penelope dissolves into tears, to Monica's grief and dismay.
"Oh, Aunt Priscilla, I am sure Aunt Pen only meant to save you trouble," she says, earnestly, putting her arms round Miss Penelope, who sobs audibly on her shoulder.
"And who says I thought anything else?" says poor Miss Priscilla, fiercely, though her voice trembles with emotion: it is terrible to her to see her faithful friend and sister in tears of her causing. "Penelope, I meant nothing, but I have heard something that has grieved and disturbed me: so I must needs come home and avenge my ill-temper on the best creature in the world. Alas! I am a wicked woman."
"Oh, no, no," cries Miss Penelope. "My dear Priscilla, you will break my heart if you talk thus. My good soul, come in here and tell me what has happened to distress you."
In truth it is quite plain now that something has happened during her drive to take Miss Priscilla's well-balanced mind off its hinges.
"Where is Terence?" she asks, looking from one to other of the group in the hall.