"You'll never be county people, whatever that jargon means—that is, you'll never be like the Lorrimers and the Thorntons. You don't want to be, do you?"
"Good gracious, no; they are a depressing set."
"Then that's what county people are, so why should you kill yourself to be one of them? Aren't you going to write to your father to tell him what you think of the Towers?"
"Shall I?"
"I would if I were you. You might suggest——"
"Yes; do you think it would be any use?"
"There is no saying—it's your own affair. If you choose to die of ennui, don't tell me that I haven't warned you. Now I see you are wide awake, so you may dry your hair and get up."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," sighed Susy after Antonia had swung herself out of the room, "I'm chilled to the bone and every scrap of spirit taken out of me. I hate that awful Towers—why did father buy it?"
One of Antonia's great ideas was on all occasions to strike while the iron is hot. It was her plan to leap over obstacles or to push them vigorously aside. She had no respect for people's corns. Their preconceived prejudices were nothing to her. Having succeeded in disturbing Susy, she now went straight to her mother's room. Mrs. Bernard Temple was seated in an easy chair by the open window, enjoying a quiet ten minutes for thought and rest before It was time for her to dress for dinner. Pinkerton was moving about putting the different accessories for her mistress's toilet in order. Antonia pushed her almost rudely aside as she swept across the room.
"Go away, Pinkerton," she said, "I want to speak to mother by herself."