"And have I nothing to forgive?"
It was Miss Briggs who put the question.
"Yes, of course you have, Cousin Appolina! I am terribly sorry that I ever did such a thing. It was rude, impertinent, everything that was bad. I hope you will forgive me. Of course it is all true, but I needn't have said it."
"True?"
"Why, yes. You know you are a dame of high degree, and you have always scolded me, and in your winter bonnet and big fur cape you were—er—well, a sight rather strange for to see. And it is perfectly true you are soon going to set sail across the sea and you won't take us all three, and sometimes, you know, Cousin Appolina, you don't agree very well, especially with me. And you do love cakes and tea, but so do I, so that isn't anything. And you say yourself you pride yourself on your pedigree."
"And no one has a better right. But there is one line that you have left out. You called me an ancient, awful she!"
Peggy paused.
"I know," she said, slowly, "that was dreadful, but—but it is partly true. I suppose you can't truthfully call yourself very young, Cousin Appolina, and sometimes you can be very awful."
Another pause.
"You may both go home," said Miss Briggs.