“Papa,” she said, “you don’t quite understand. Mrs Robertson is not so much to blame as you think. Ella—” and she looked at her sister, “Tell papa yourself. It is no use concealing anything. Mrs Robertson will of course be writing herself, and then—”
“I have no wish to conceal anything,” said Ella, haughtily. “I never dreamt of such a thing. Yes, what Madelene says is quite true, papa. Aunt Phillis did not send me away. She did not know of my leaving. She will only have heard it by a telegram I sent her from Weevilscoombe.”
“Do you mean to say,” said Colonel St Quentin slowly, “that you left your aunt’s house without her sanction or even knowledge, as well as without writing to consult me—in short, that you ran away?”
“Something very like it,” said Ella defiantly. Madelene looked grievously distressed.
“Oh, Ella,” she said, “do not speak like that. She does not mean it really, papa—she has explained more about it to me. Ella, tell papa you are sorry if you have vexed him. It was natural for her to come to us, papa—even if she has acted hastily.”
But Ella would say nothing. She stood there proudly obstinate, and Miss St Quentin’s appeal in her favour fell on unheeding ears. One glance at her, and her father turned away and began walking up and down the room in a way which as Madelene well knew betokened extreme irritation.
“Little something,” she heard him murmur, and she hoped Ella did not suspect that the half inaudible word was “fool”—“nothing, no conjunction of things could have been more annoying.”
Then he stopped short and stood facing his youngest daughter.
“Ella,” he said quietly, but there was something in his tone which made the girl inwardly tremble a little in spite of her determination, “you have acted very wrongly. You have placed me in a most disagreeable position—obliging me to apologise for your rudeness to your aunt, to whom already I was under heavy obligations for you,” here Ella glanced up in surprise, and seemed as if about to speak, but her father would not listen, “and you have certainly given this Mr Burton a victory. The more vulgar he is, if he really is vulgar—I don’t know that I feel inclined to take your word for it—the more he will enjoy it.” Ella compressed her lips tightly. “And,” Colonel St Quentin went on, his hard tone softening as he glanced at Madelene, “there are other reasons why I extremely regret the way you have chosen to behave. You have shown no sort of consideration for our—for your sisters’ convenience.”
Ella started up. This time she would be heard.