She waited, and the clock ticked tumultuously, as clocks do when you wait. She began to rock violently again, and she nearly upset herself by a tremendous start when the door finally opened. She thought it was Mr. Carter, but it was only Emily with some books under her arm.
Emily came to the door of the library and looked in. She had long ago obeyed her father’s order and washed her face. It was guiltless even of becoming makeup, but she had an unnatural look to her mother for all that.
“What’s the matter, mama?” she asked. “Where’s Fanchon? Has Leigh come in?”
Mrs. Carter shook her head. She had stopped rocking and was staring at her daughter. Emily saw it and retreated.
“I think I’ll go up-stairs,” she said hurriedly. “I passed the exams, mama. Mr. Brinsted says I can go to high school in September.”
A gleam of momentary pleasure shot across Mrs. Carter’s worried face, but she did not withdraw her fixed gaze.
“Emmy, you come here,” she said suddenly. “I want to look at your dress.”
Emily backed.
“Oh, I want to go up-stairs, mama. I’m hot and tired. Mr. Brinsted’s so prosy. Sallie Payson says—”
Mrs. Carter rose and made a dive at the hem of her daughter’s skirt.