"Go along with you!" cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist out of the window. "You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Go along! Oh, you bold-faced thing!"
My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstone looked about her, that I really believe she did not know what to do. I hastened to tell her who it was, and that Mr. Murdstone was following behind, but it made no difference. She glared at them as they entered the room in a most terrible way.
"Oh!" said my aunt, "I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasure of objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I make no exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it."
"Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers," said Miss Murdstone.
"Is it!" said my aunt.
Mr. Murdstone here cleared his throat and began, "Miss Trotwood—"
"I beg your pardon," observed my aunt, with a keen look. "You are the Mr. Murdstone."
"I am," said Mr. Murdstone.
"You'll excuse my saying, sir," returned my aunt, "that I think it would have been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poor child alone."
Mr. Murdstone colored, and Miss Murdstone looked as though she could bite nails.