“Oh, when it begins to look at all like ‘home,’ I daresay it will be bearable enough; but there is at least a fortnight’s hard work for me before that can happen.”
Olivia’s face changed, and began to look proud and mutinous. Mr. Denison rushed into the breach.
“Come, come, Susan, I don’t think you are quite fair to poor Olivia. Remember, it’s hard work for a girl, arranging a big house like this. I think she has done very well indeed.”
“You must allow me, Edward, to know what I am talking about,” said his wife; while Regie and Beatrix, who had been quarrelling silently but viciously in a corner, scenting something in a possible discussion among their elders, came to an abrupt truce and listened eagerly. “I think I ought to understand the arrangement of a house by this time.”
“It is a pity, Mrs. Denison, that you could not have spared Lucy and me a week of discomfort and hard work by coming here first yourself,” said Olivia, whose quick temper was seldom proof against her step-mother’s attacks. “I never doubted that we should fail to please you, but you might give us the credit of having tried.”
“Why, what’s the matter, Susan? What have you to find fault with?” asked Mr. Denison. His easy-going nature made him averse from interfering in any discussion; but he had suffered so much self-reproach for allowing his daughter to come to Rishton by herself that he felt impelled to dare a word in her behalf. “Hasn’t she made the place very comfortable?”
“She has at least taken care that she herself shall be very comfortable,” said Mrs. Denison, in her most disagreeable tone.
“Will you please tell me how I have done that?” asked Olivia, in a very low voice.
She was afraid lest her self-control should leave her, and the discussion assume the vulgar aspect of a quarrel between two angry women. For, blame herself for it as she might, she was angry as well as hurt.
“By consulting nobody’s convenience but your own in your choice of a room for yourself,” said Mrs. Denison, sharply.