"Then you ought to have heard!" was the retort of Miss Davenal, at cross-purposes as usual. "You are not turning deaf, I suppose?"
"What is it, aunt?" repeated Sara, going half-way down the stairs.
Instead of answering, Miss Davenal turned and went into the breakfast-room again. Sara could only follow her. Her aunt's manners had never relaxed to her from the sternness assumed at the time of Dr. Davenal's death: cold and severe she had remained ever since; but she looked unusually cold and severe now.
"Shut the door," said Miss Davenal.
Sara hesitated for a moment, more in mind than action, and then she obeyed. She had left her desk, and wanted to get back to it.
"Hold this," said Miss Davenal.
She had taken her seat in her own chair, and was cutting out some articles of linen clothing that looked as long as the room. Her income was a very moderate one now, and she did a good deal of sewing instead of putting it out. Sara took the stuff in her hand, and held it while her aunt cut: an interminable proceeding to an impatient helpmate, for Miss Davenal cut only about an inch at a time, and then drew a short thread and cut again.
"Won't it tear?" asked Sara.
"It will wear. Did you ever know me buy linen that wouldn't wear? I have too good an eye for linen to buy what won't wear."
"I asked, aunt, if it would not tear."