"That is not the question, at all: it is merely one of age," says Miss Priscilla.
"Is it? And yet people say a great deal about childhood being the happiest time of one's life," says Kit, almost choking with scornful rage. "I should just like to see the fellow who first said that. Maybe I wouldn't enlighten him, and tell him what a hypocrite he was. Whoever said it, it is a decided untruth, and I know I wish to goodness I was grown up, because then," with withering emphasis, "I should not be trampled upon and insulted!"
This is dreadful. The two old ladies, unaccustomed in their quiet lives to tornadoes and volcanoes of any kind, are almost speechless with fright.
"Dearest," says Monica, going up to her, "how can you look at it in such a light?"
"It's all very well for you," says the indignant Kit: "you're going, you know. I'm to stay at home, like that wretched Cinderella!"
"Katherine, I am sure you are quite unaware of the injustice of your remarks," says Miss Priscilla, at last finding her voice. She is bent on delivering a calm rebuke; but inwardly (as any one can see) she is quaking. "And I have frequently told you before that the expression 'I wish to goodness,' which you used just now, is anything but ladylike. It is not nice; it is not proper."
"I don't care what is proper or improper, when I am treated as I now am," says the rebel, with flashing eyes and undaunted front.
"There is really nothing to complain of," says Miss Priscilla, earnestly, seeing censure has no effect. "Madam O'Connor would not willingly offend any one; she is a very kind woman, and——"
"She is a regular old wretch!" says the youngest [Miss] Beresford, with considerable spirit.
"My dear Katherine!"