“Of course we will,” said Sylvia St. John in her gentle tone; but she had scarcely uttered the words before Aneta rose.
“Of course you can have the sitting-room,” she said; “but I want to talk to you, Maggie.”
“You can’t, I am afraid, just now,” said Maggie. “I am much too busy.—We have to go into accounts, girls,” she added. “There are no end of things to be done, besides, at the rehearsal.” Here she dropped her voice slightly.
“The rest of you can go to the sitting-room and do what is necessary,” continued Aneta. “I want you, Maggie, and you had better come with me.” She spoke very firmly.
A dogged look came into Maggie’s face. She threw back her head and glanced full at Aneta. “I go with you,” she said, “just because you ask me, forsooth! You forget yourself, Queen Aneta. I also am a queen and have a kingdom.”
“My business with you has something to do with a person who calls herself Tildy,” said Aneta in her gravest voice; and Maggie suddenly felt as though a cold douche had been thrown over her. She colored a vivid red. Then she turned eagerly to Kathleen.
“I won’t be a minute,” she said. “You all go into the sitting-room and get the accounts in order. You might also go over that tableaux with Diana Vernon.—Kathleen, you know that you must put a little more life into your face than you did the other day; and—and—oh dear, how annoying this is!—Yes, of course I will go with you, Aneta. You won’t keep me a minute?”
Maggie and Aneta left the room.
Merry turned to her sister and said in a troubled voice, “I can’t imagine why it is that Aneta doesn’t care for poor Maggie. I love Aneta, of course, for she is our very own cousin; but I cannot understand her want of sympathy for dearest Maggie.” 151
“I am not altogether quite so fond of Maggie as you are, Merry; and you know that,” said Cicely.