Lallie went to the top of the stairs and looked down.
"They're very little marks," she said consolingly. "My worst enemy couldn't say I've big feet."
"Quite large enough to make ugly and distressing stains when the feet happen to be muddy. Don't you see how every mark shows on that plain carpet?"
"Yes, it must be tiresome," Lallie said coolly, as though she and the footmarks had nothing whatever to do with one another. "It's a pity Tony went and chose a colour like that where people have always to be going up and down, but it's just like a man not to think of these things."
Miss Foster was really angry.
"There is no necessity for any one to go up and down with dirty feet, Miss Clonmell."
Lallie's cheeks flushed pink, and the eyes that met Miss Foster's were bright with defiance as she said softly and distinctly:
"When Mr. Bevan asks me to use the back staircase I'll do it; so far, he has not so much as suggested it," and with her head in the air Lallie marched across the landing to her room and shut the door very quietly, with ostentatious care that it should latch effectively.
It was a declaration of war, and, as such, Miss Foster received it.
That evening Miss Foster unbosomed herself in a letter to her favourite niece--the niece whose wedding she had attended when Lallie, as she described it, "sneaked in" during her absence.