“Well, perhaps, next time,” Aunt Aggie said sharply. “When I offer some help someone will listen to me. I should not have forgotten the book.”
“I can’t think why I did,” said Katherine, “I remembered it just before I started, and then something happened—”
Aunt Aggie looked about her, and thought that this would be a very good opportunity for discovering the real state of Katherine’s mind.
“You must take care, Katherine dear,” she said, “you don’t seem to me to have been quite yourself lately. I’ve noticed a number of little things. You’re tired, I think.”
Katherine laughed. “Why should I be? I’ve had nothing to make me.”
It was then that Aunt Aggie caught a look of strange, almost furtive anxiety in Harriet’s eyes. Following this, for the swiftest moment, Katherine and her mother exchanged a gleam of affection, of reassurance, of confidence.
“Ah!” thought Aunt Aggie, “they’re laughing at me. Everyone’s laughing at me.”
“My dear Katherine,” she snapped, “I’m sure I don’t know what’s tired you, but I think you must realise what I mean. You are not your normal self; and, if your old aunt may say so, that’s a pity.”
Millie, looking across at her sister, was astonished to see the colour rising in her cheeks. Katherine was annoyed! Katherine minded Aunt Aggie! Katherine, who was never out of temper—never perturbed! and at Aunt Aggie!
“Really, Aunt Aggie,” Katherine said, “it’s very tiresome if all the family are going to watch one day and night as though one were something from the Zoo. Tiresome is not nearly strong enough.”