But when later on Connie was sitting at her new writing-table contemplating her transformed room with a childish satisfaction, Nora knocked and came in.
She walked up to Connie, and stood looking down upon her. She was very red, and her eyes sparkled.
“I want to tell you that I am disappointed in you—dreadfully disappointed in you!” said the girl fiercely.
“What do you mean!” Constance rose in amazement.
“Why didn’t you insist on my father’s buying these things? You ought to have insisted. You pay us a large sum, and you had a right. Instead, you have humiliated us—because you are rich, and we are poor! It was mean—and purse-proud.”
“How dare you say such things?” cried Connie. “You mustn’t come into my room at all, if you are going to behave like this. You know very well I didn’t do it unkindly. It is you who are unkind! But of course it doesn’t matter. You don’t understand. You are only a child!” Her voice shook.
“I am not a child!” said Nora indignantly. “And I believe I know a great deal more about money than you do—because you have never been poor. I have to keep all the accounts here, and make mother and Alice pay their debts. Father, of course, is always too busy to think of such things. Your money is dreadfully useful to us. I wish it wasn’t. But I wanted to do what was honest—if you had only given me time. Then you slipped out and did it!”
Constance stared in bewilderment.
“Are you the mistress in this house?” she said.
Nora nodded. Her colour had all faded away, and her breath was coming quick. “I practically am,” she said stoutly.