The one absorbing thought that he was nephew to Aunt Priscilla's bugbear has swallowed up all others; but now, as he himself reveals this other truth to her, she feels that her cup is indeed full.
Deeper and deeper grows the crimson tint that dyes her pale, shy face, until her cheeks are all aflame. Something like anger, too, is rendering her sweet eyes brilliant beyond their wont. Delicately but haughtily she gathers up the train of her white gown and casts one expressive glance upon the way she came. This glance says much. Somehow it tells him as distinctly as though she said it aloud that she is sorry she ever came down to this river, and that her sorrow arises from the fact that it was here she encountered him.
While he is still sore perplexed by her sudden change of demeanor, she turns away from him. Then, pausing, she turns again, and bestows upon him so indignant a look as completely finishes this ill used young man.
"I object to hasty friendships," she says, icily. "And," pausing as if to make the effect greater, "if I were you, I think I should seek some better employment than standing idling all day long at your uncle's gate."
With this parting shaft, and before he can recover from his consternation, she goes swiftly away from him, up through the meadows, home.
CHAPTER V.
How Monica is put in possession of a dreadful secret—And how Kit protests against the injustice of the world.
"An invitation from Madam O'Connor," says Miss Priscilla in a pleased tone, glancing at them all, over the top of her spectacles. She has the card in her hand, and slowly reads aloud the information printed upon it, to the effect that Madam O'Connor will be at home on Friday the 15th, from four to six o'clock, etc.
"I am very glad she has asked Terence and Monica," says Miss Penelope. "Excessively attentive I call it."