"Tear!" repeated Miss Davenal, offended at the word--at the ignorance it betrayed. "No, it will not tear; and I should think there's hardly a parish school child in the kingdom but would know that, without asking."
Sara, rebuked, held her part in silence. Presently Miss Davenal lifted her eyes and looked her full in the face.
"Who was that letter from this morning?"
"It was a private letter, aunt."
"A what?" snapped Miss Davenal.
Sara let fall the work, and stood fearlessly before Miss Davenal. The most gentle spirit can be aroused at times. "The letter was from a gentleman, aunt. It was a private letter to myself. Surely I am not so much of a child that I may not be trusted to receive one?"
"A pri-vate let-ter!--A gentleman!" was the amazed reiteration of Miss Bettina. "What do you say?"
Sara stood quite still for a moment, while the faint flush that was called up died away on her cheeks, and then she bent close to her aunt's ear, her low voice unmistakably clear and distinct.
"Aunt Bettina, you knew there was some unhappy business that papa was obliged to meet--and bear--just before he died. The letter I have received this morning bears reference to it. It is from a Mr. King, but I don't know him. I should be thankful if you would not force me to these explanations: they are very painful."
Miss Bettina picked up the work and drew at a thread until it broke. "Who is Mr. King?" she asked.