“But how long?”
“A few—at least, some weeks.”
“Weeks? I supposed that you had owned one for months. In fact, it has never been explained to me where you got it nor how you happened to get it. Who bought the typewriter?”
“Er—we did.”
“But which one of you? I am under the impression that it belongs to Katherine. Am I right? Did she buy it?”
There was no reply. The aunt and niece were in Mrs. Wentworth Ward’s room this afternoon in June, engaged with the correspondence of the latter. It was a beautiful day, and Victoria longed to be out of doors. She had watched Katherine go across the lawn with her music-roll under her arm, and she knew that she was going to the house on the hill to read music with Miss Madison. Honor was sitting under the trees with Sophy and Peter, who was able now to be out of doors, lying stretched out in a steamer chair. Victoria alone was in the house this golden afternoon; and, anxious though she was to finish her task and be off,—no doubt for that very reason,—she had never worked so slowly. Her mistakes were innumerable, and several times she had been obliged to rewrite a note because of her aunt’s dissatisfaction with its appearance.
“Which one of you bought the typewriter?” repeated Mrs. Ward.
“Why do you want to know, Aunt Sophia?”
“I have my reasons. Who bought it?”
“Katherine did.”