“Don’t you bother,” Bertha reassured them, concealing her own deep disappointment. “Of course I shall sit there. It’s only a pity it’s between you.”
Now Elsie showed a new side of her character to Kate, and a side that she had not suspected. “Don’t be silly,” she told Bertha emphatically—but not rudely, merely affectionately—“Of course we shall take turns. I shall have the post for half the time and you the other. But it’s mean, just the same.”
“And I, too—I shall certainly take my turn,” Kate threw in. “But I think it is mean, and a cheat, too!”
“No, you are the guest,” Elsie said firmly. “You are to sit at the end and stay there. Go in now and I’ll follow.”
But Kate did not pass in. She stood frowning. “It isn’t fair,” she insisted. “They had no business to sell Aunt Katherine that seat.”
Bertha shrugged. “Of course it’s unfair,” she whispered, “but there’s nothing to do about it.” She was bothered by the attention they were beginning to attract. She wished Kate would go in and sit down.
“Then we ought to complain,” Kate insisted, still blocking up the aisle.
“To whom?” Bertha asked. Her tone said she would have nothing to do with it.
Elsie murmured quickly, “Oh, let’s not,” and gave Kate a slight push. She, too, was conscious of their conspicuous situation. “I couldn’t.”
Kate, too, knew that they were attracting the attention of many people. All the more she was determined not to accept the injustice of that post seat meekly. They were early; the curtain would not go up for ten minutes. The orchestra was only just coming into the pit.