"My niece is only making me a very short visit, Mrs. Eaton. It is hardly worth while for me to interfere with her conduct."
Nancy was struck dumb with amazement. What did Aunt Sabrina mean—that this silly little affair ended her stay at Happy House? What would Anne think? Oh, what a mess she had made of everything! Of course she had expected that something might happen any moment; after one day had safely passed, she had always thought it might be the next; had she not told Anne that she was certain to make some dreadful blunder? But it was a shame to go away in disgrace when she had not really done anything, after all!
Indignation of the most righteous sort began slowly to master Nancy's consternation. Well, if she did have to go she would allow herself, just once, the sweet satisfaction of telling Miss Sabrina what she thought of the Leavitts and their sense of honor! She rushed headlong into the sitting-room.
"I heard what that—that creature said," she blurted out. "I don't know why God makes women like that! What would you think, Aunt Sabrina, if you'd seen her take a whip and lash those children across their bare bodies? And that wouldn't have been as bad as what she really did do, for those hurts would have healed, and the way she hurt their spirits wouldn't ever heal! She is cruelly unjust—and unkind!"
Poor Miss Sabrina looked very old and very tired—far too tired to meet this impetuous attack! Something in the unyieldingness of her expression drove Nancy to utter abandon.
"Oh, I suppose I'll have—to go away! But I'm glad—everything is all wrong at Happy House. There's no happiness here—at all. Fath—someone I love used to tell me that happiness comes to you as you give happiness, and that's what's the matter here—you don't give happiness! You live—apart—and you just wrap yourself round with the traditions of the Leavitts and all that—tommyrot! I'm glad I'm not—a—I'm glad I'm the—the other branch. I guess the golden rule is better than any family honor and that it doesn't matter at all what all the people who are dead and gone've done—it's what the people who are living are doing—that counts!"
Breathless from her outburst and frightened by its daring, Nancy burst into tears and rushed from the room.
In the aftermath of calm that followed the storm, Nancy woefully faced the consequences of what she had done. How silly it would all sound to Anne when she heard it! Anne would tell her, of course, what she would have done—but then, Anne had always been able to control every word and every action.
Nancy, staring about at the four walls of her room in very much the same way she had done that first day of her coming to Happy House, realized that they were not so ugly, after all. Their height gave a sense of coolness and space; the branches of an old cherry tree brushed her windows; from below came all sorts of sweet smells out of Jonathan's garden; the incessant twittering of birds and the humming of insects made the summer air teem with busy, happy life. It was pleasant, she sighed—much pleasanter than a flat in Harlem in July!
"Well, I won't pack until I get my dishonorable discharge, and I can't get away until Webb's stage goes, anyway! I'll take Miss Milly once more to the orchard."