Her aunt smiled bitterly.
“It’s only my affection for you,” she said. “But of course you don’t want that. Why should you? One day, however, you may remember that someone once cared whether you were tired or not.”
Aunt Aggie’s hands trembled on her lap.
Katherine shook her head impatiently.
“I’m very grateful for your kindness—but I’d much rather be left alone. I’m not tired, nor odd, nor anything—so, please, don’t tell me that I am.”
Aggie rose from her chair, and very slowly with trembling fingers drew her work together. “I think,” she said, her voice quivering a little, “that I’ll go to bed. Next time you wish to insult me, Katherine, I’d rather you did it when we were alone.”
A very slow and stately figure, she walked down the drawing-room and disappeared.
There was a moment’s silence.
“Oh, dear!” cried Katherine, “I’m so sorry!” She looked round upon them all, and saw quite clearly that they were surprised at her. Again behind Mrs. Trenchard’s eyes there hovered that suspicion of anxiety.
“What did I do? What did I say? Aunt Aggie’s so funny.” Then, as still they did not answer, she turned round upon them: “Have I been cross and tiresome lately? Have you all noticed it? Tell me.”