"You're not going to wash any blankets," said Mrs. Colebrook, "and Evie has got to say she is sorry."
"I washed blankets before you were born, Mrs. Colebrook, or soon after, at any rate. I promised you I'd come home and help you."
He went with her to the little scullery with its copper and wash tub, she protesting.
"I didn't think you meant it," she said, "and I can't let you do it. You go into the kitchen and I'll make you a cup of tea."
"Blankets," said Ambrose, rolling up his sleeves.
Evie burst into her room, red with anger. She hated Sault more than ever. She said so, flinging her hat wildly on the bed.
"Oh—was that you who was strafing?" asked Christina.
"I gave him a piece of my mind," said Evie with satisfaction.
"That was generous, considering the size of it." Christina bent outward and laid down the paper and stylograph she had been using.
"I couldn't have done that a few days ago," she said, "and what has poor Ambrose done?"