"I can't talk to you any more now. I must pray more and say less."
"I want to go to Ellinor Lathrop's party."
"I have told you, once for all, that you cannot go."
"Then I think you're real mean."
"Gabrielle!"
The girl was startled by the righteous indignation, mingled with dignity, with which she was addressed. Accustomed for fourteen years to look down upon her mother, she fancied she could brow-beat her grandmother also.
"You may go to your room now," said Mrs. Grey. "And let me tell you that if you wean my heart from me, you will lose one of the best friends you ever had."
For once Gabrielle found she had gone too far. There is a limit no child should be allowed to pass, and she found herself confronted by it now. She flew to her room, and began letter after letter to her father, pouring out her grievances into an ear that had always listened to her with sympathy. But what would be the use of complaining to him about his mother, whom he loved and revered? Suddenly she bethought herself of Margaret; wouldn't she take her part, perhaps? There was another rush here and there, and at last she found Margaret in her own room studying.
"Grandma won't let me go to Ellinor Lathrop's party," was her abrupt beginning.