Theresa's face had grown very red. Her lips trembled a little. "You didn't tell them, did you?" she asked.
"Yes, Theresa, I told Mother about it in a letter."
"And Mother told me—for a secret."
She tried to steady her lips. "But it was our secret. Oh, why did you tell them? Oh, you've spoilt it all!" The corners of her mouth had dropped to their utmost limits, tears were flowing and sobs coming fast, and, angered by her own weakness, she stamped her foot, shaking her little body violently. "Oh, how horrid of you! W-why did you tell them? I don't want to hear about it now. I hate it, I hate it; I hate you all! Treating me like a baby!" She turned to Grace. "You nasty thing!" she cried, and smacked her face.
"Theresa!"
"I don't care—I don't care!" Clenching her hands and setting her teeth, her face as flaming as her hair, she lifted a foot and made a vicious thrust at her sister, but Grace, giggling through her alarm, managed to dodge the blow. Both her own failure and Grace's good-nature increased Theresa's passion.
"You pig!" she cried. "You coward! I wish I had a knife! When we go to bed I'll kill you! O-oh!" With a long wail, she opened a window and rushed down the garden slope.
Grace took a seat on a low stool, and waited for the interesting conversation which must follow, but Nancy was leaning back in her chair.
"What is it, Nancy?" Edward Webb, clasping his table napkin with both hands, had run round the table.
"Nothing much. I'm not very well. And Theresa's temper——"