“Do I, Aunt?”
“Yes, you do. You, assuming the tones and manners of your poor father, and speaking to me, the mistress of the house, like that!”
“But you are not the mistress of the house, Aunt.”
“I beg your pardon, child. Your father has delegated all authority to me, and he renewed the charge only a few weeks back.”
“Then you ought to do your duty, Aunt,” said Isabel.
“Isabel, you do surprise me, you do indeed!” cried Aunt Anne, who looked quite aghast at what was, in her eyes, rank rebellion by a child against her authority.
“Do I, Aunt? I am very sorry,” replied Isabel quietly. “I was only thinking that if I were mistress here, I should consider it my duty to send Maria away at once.”
“And I do not,” cried Aunt Anne. “My idea is that it would be my duty to discharge that dreadful nurse.”
“But poor Auntie cannot,” thought Isabel, “and consequently she is not sole mistress of the house.”
“And now, as I have occasion to talk to you, Isabel,” continued Aunt Anne, drawing herself up, and gazing very sternly at her niece, “I will not reprove you for your very flippant, disrespectful treatment of your poor father’s sister.”