“The fight was fair,” she said calmly, “and also mutual.”
Her brother regarded her fixedly, then he spoke. “Though what there is to be gained in thus setting yourself in opposition to my repeatedly expressed wishes I do not”—all at once two steely points seemed to leap into the blue intensity of his gaze—“unless—in Heaven’s name, Harriet, is it possible that you mean to—”
“Mean to what?” she repeated. Harriet was meeting his eyes with a look as unflinching as his. She seemed unconsciously to have drawn herself to her full, superb height, but she had grown white as her gown.
He suddenly resumed his usual manner. “Take the child on to bed,” he said, glancing at Alexina standing startled, looking from one to the other. “This is no time to have the matter out.”
“I agree with you quite,” said his sister, and held out a hand to the girl. Alexina took it quickly, impulsively, and held to it as they went up the garlanded stairway, which suddenly looked tawdry and garish. In the hall above the girl lifted Harriet’s hand and put her cheek against it, then almost ran in at her own door.
CHAPTER THREE
The Blairs met about the breakfast table next morning at the usual time; a matter of four hours for sleep instead of eight would have been insufficient excuse to Austen for further upsetting of routine; and there was none of the chit-chat that would seem natural on a morning following the giving of a large social affair.
Aunt Harriet was dumb and Uncle Austen tense, or so it seemed to the third and youngest Blair about the board. She had been conscious of sharp interchange checked as she entered. Uncle Austen even forgot to look up at her interrogatively as she came in, though she was a moment late.