Nevertheless, until this particular week, it had always been her habit to talk the matter over with Priscilla, and often at the last moment she would yield to the persuasions of the latter that this particular symphony, or that particular soloist was too fine for her to miss.
But when on Friday morning Martine said nothing whatever about the rehearsal, and when on Friday afternoon neither she nor her mother occupied the seat next Priscilla's, the latter felt that the time had come for her to speak.
It is to be feared that that particular symphony meant little to Mrs. Tilworth's niece. Discord, not harmony, filled her mind. She hardly noticed the execution of the great pianist who was the soloist of the day, and when her aunt put a question, her answers were so vague that Mrs. Tilworth, glancing at her keenly, said,
"I fear you have been working too hard this winter. It will do you good to go down to Plymouth Easter."
The kindness in her aunt's tone encouraged Priscilla, and that evening after dinner she told the whole story of the spot of ink. When she had finished, to her great surprise, the dignified Mrs. Tilworth began to laugh.
"Excuse me, my dear, but it seems to me you have made much ado about a small matter. It is true that I value that bureau cover, and I consider you most careless in handling your pen, but that you should think me an ogre—"
"Oh, I do not, only I knew I had been careless. I meant to tell you, but I thought I could get it out first."
"That was your mistake, child. A good laundress could have removed the ink if she had had the cover before any one else experimented with it. As it is, the oxalic acid weakened the fibre so that we have had to darn it. When you see it, you will admit that the work has been done very well, but everything would have gone much better had you told me in the first place."
"Yes, aunt, I know it, and I deserve punishment. But what I wanted to say was about Martine. I know she was silly in doing what she did in the drawing-room, but although she seems so grown up, sometimes she acts just like a child. Why, I really believe she has forgotten all about last Saturday; at least she hasn't said a word to me, and she can't understand why I don't go to her house, and I can't ask her here, and I do wish that you'd let me."
"I did not mean to forbid you to go to Martine's," responded Mrs. Tilworth. "I should be sorry to do that, for, as you know, I like Mrs. Stratford. I merely advised you to see less of Martine. There are other girls who ought to be just as companionable—some indeed whom you might like better, if you would make the effort."