Phyllis bit her lips; her face grew scarlet.
“Well, I did, you know,” she said.
“And extremely naughty you were. Did your father know that you had asked them?”
“I never told Dad; I—I forgot.”
“Then you, a little girl of twelve years old, took it on you to ask a party of wild, disreputable, untrained children to this house without either his leave or mine!”
“Please, Miss Fleet,” said Phyllis, who had a very quick temper when roused, “they are not disreputable and they are not wild.”
“I repeat what I have said—disreputable, untrained children. I will have none of it.”
“You cannot prevent it now—you daren’t.”
“Oh, we will see. Take this page of Child’s Guide and learn it carefully. I will be back in a few minutes.”
Miss Fleet went out of the room. Phyllis looked after her until the door was closed; then she gave a wild, sharp scream, and rushing to the window, looked out. From there she had a view of the stables, and presently she saw one of the grooms get on her own special pony, Bob, and gallop off. The groom carried a note in his hand.