A red spot glowed on either cheek of Mrs. Mudge. She was trying hard to find some vantage-ground over the old lady.
“Do you mean to say that I don't mind my business?” she blustered, folding her arms defiantly.
“What were you at my trunk for?” said the old lady, significantly.
“Because it was my duty,” was the brazen reply.
Mrs. Mudge had rapidly determined upon her line of defense, and thought it best to carry the war into the enemy's country.
“Yes, I felt sure that your letter was from Paul Prescott, and as he ran away from my husband and me, who were his lawful guardians, it was my duty to take that means of finding out where he is. I knew that you were in league with him, and would do all you could to screen him. This is why I went to your chest, and I would do it again, if necessary.”
“Perhaps you have been before,” said Aunt Lucy, scornfully. “I think I understand, now, why you were unwilling to give me another key. Fortunately there has been nothing there until now to reward your search.”
“You impudent trollop!” shrieked Mrs. Mudge, furiously.
Her anger was the greater, because Aunt Lucy was entirely correct in her supposition that this was not the first visit her landlady had made to the little green chest.
“I'll give Paul the worst whipping he ever had, when I get him back,” said Mrs. Mudge, angrily.