“Tell Miss Trenchard about your games, dear,” said Mrs. Drake.
There was no reply.
“You must come and play here one day, dear,” said Aunt Aggie. “Such a big room as we’ve got upstairs—and lots of toys. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
There was no reply.
“She’s shy, I expect,” said Mrs. Drake. “So many children are.”
Aunt Aggie drew nearer to Lettice.
“You mustn’t be shy with me, dear. I’m so proud of children. You shall have such a piece of cake in a minute!”
But with a little movement of her bony fingers Lettice Drake, in a voice of chill detachment, said:
“You’ve got a thpot on your faith,” referring to a little black mole on Aunt Aggie’s right cheek. The voice was so chill, the indifference so complete that the failure of Aunt Aggie’s tactics was obvious to the dullest onlooker. Unfortunately Henry laughed; he had not intended to laugh: he did not feel at all in a humorous mood—but he laughed from nervousness, discomfort and disgust. He knew that Aunt Aggie would not forgive this ... he hated quarrels with Aunt Aggie. She did not look at him, but her back told him what she was thinking. He wished, bitterly, that he had more self-control; he knew that, of all possible insults, Aunt Aggie would regard most bitterly a mock at her appearance in a public place. The Drakes might be considered a public place.
Mrs. Trenchard said: “Where’s Katie? You’d like to see her, Agnes, I’m sure. Perhaps she doesn’t know you’re here. I’ll see. I know you’d like to see her.” Mrs. Trenchard went away. Then Aunt Sarah, who had been hitherto absolutely silent, began, her eye never leaving Mrs. Drake’s face.