"And so, dear Aunt, here I stay until I can return to you feeling that
I have achieved something worthy my sex and name."
"Peregrine, come with me—I command you!"
"Then, dearest Aunt, with all the humility possible, I fear I must disobey you."
My aunt Julia drew herself to her stately height, setting her indomitable chin at me, and into her eyes came that coercive expression which resurrected the memory of childish sins of omission and commission, an expression before which my new-found hardihood wilted and drooped; but in this desperate moment I glanced at Diana, and, meeting the calm serenity of her untroubled gaze, I folded my arms and, bowing my head, awaited the deluge with what fortitude I might and, in the awful stillness, heard uncle George's spurs jingle distressfully.
"You mean that—you—will—not—come?" she demanded.
"I do, dear Aunt."
"That you actually—disobey me?"
"Dear Aunt—I do!"
"Pray, who is the young person I notice behind you?"
"Person, Aunt?"