"Come, children," again called Mr. Grey. "We cannot wait for you any longer."
Stella ran down-stairs to say that Etty would be ready in a minute.
When all were in the carriage, Etty came down. In the bustle of getting settled and driving off, Mrs. Grey did not notice her dress, and it was not till they had gone several squares that she observed how Etty had disobeyed her orders.
"Why, Etty!" she exclaimed. "What made you put on that dress, of all others? You will have it utterly spoiled."
"There is no help for it now," said Mr. Grey. "If Etty spoils her dress, she must take the consequences. She will not have another new one at her disposal to spoil this summer."
Etty flounced and frowned, but said nothing till they came to the steamboat, which was just ready to leave the dock. Then a new trouble came up. She declared that she could not and would not go on board the boat—that she knew she should be drowned, and that Stella should not go either.
"Very well," said Mr. Grey. "Then, get into the carriage and go home, but Stella shall go, if she chooses. Come, make up your mind one way or the other; but do not stand there making yourself ridiculous any longer."
This was new treatment to Etty, who was used to being soothed, and petted, and admired for her weak nerves and delicate sensibilities. But she had no notion of being left behind, and finally went on board the boat, just the moment before the plank was taken away.
The party were to proceed to a rocky point some miles off, spend the afternoon in exploring it, and return in the evening, when the steamboat would call for them. The place was beautiful and the weather lovely—the luncheon was very nice.
And all might have been pleasant only for Etty.