"And why not, I'd like to know?" demanded the old lady, swelling visibly. "Why not, I'd like to know?"
"'Cause I'm to take care of my mother when my father's away, and he said not to let anybody bother her that she don't want to see."
It was a long explanation and took all your breath.
"Oh, is that it?" cackled Mrs. Waddles, with withering scorn. "And how do you know that your mother doesn't want to see me—hey?"
"'Cause—she—said—so!"
You separated your words like the ABC book, that Mrs. Waddles might understand. It was a master-stroke. Gasping, her face on fire, gathering her skirts together with hands that trembled in their black silk mitts, Mrs. Waddles turned and swept away.
"I never!" she managed to utter as she slammed the gate.
You shut the door softly, the battle won, and went back to the garden.
"Well, that's over," you said, with a sigh, as Mother herself would have said it.
"What's over, dear?"