"And quite enough. As that room is connected with the greatest sorrow of my life, you have hurt me more than you can ever realize. You are cruel."
"Don't say that to Val," said Elizabeth. "After all, Aunt Caroline, it was really my fault that he got in there. He never would have known anything about it last year if I had not told him and taken him there, and I ought not to have let him in this time. I was the one who went to your desk and got the key and opened the door. He didn't do one of those things. And you would never have known about it if I had not told. I think I am the one to be scolded, Aunt Caroline—really, I do."
"You certainly are very much to blame, Elizabeth. I shall punish you by withdrawing my consent to your taking drawing-lessons. I had supposed that you had outgrown your prying, curious ways. I see that you are no more worthy of trust than you used to be."
Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled. It had been so hard for her to determine to betray Valentine, and now they were all against her. He, especially. But the boy, after a long pause, suddenly spoke:
"Look here, Aunt Caroline! I think you are mighty hard on Elizabeth. I am as mad as I can be at her for peaching, and I sha'n't forgive her in a hurry, but you have no right to blame her such a lot. I took her by surprise, in the first place, and I made her go and get the key and open the door. Of course she ought not to have told after that was all done, but still it wasn't her fault that I got in there."
It cost Valentine some effort to say this. It was by no means an easy matter for him to shoulder the blame, but, as he said afterwards, he could not stand there and hear his aunt pitching into little Elizabeth, who had been so ready to make excuses for him. He was rewarded by Elizabeth's grateful look, which he pretended not to see; and when she stole her hand into his and squeezed it, he impatiently shook her off.
Valentine departed in disgrace the following day, and the letter which Miss Herrick wrote to his uncle bore such results that he concluded that it would be wiser in future to avoid any such initiation rites as those which had just been attempted.
Elizabeth went to school as usual, but it was with so sad a heart that even her friend Patsy could not succeed in cheering her. A note was sent to Mrs. Arnold, which told her that Miss Herrick's niece was not to take drawing lessons, so that delightful prospect faded away into thin air, much to the little girl's disappointment.
And the room was closed again, and life in the old Herrick house went on about as usual, until an event came to pass by which it was again startled out of its accustomed calm, and which brought a great change into Elizabeth's existence.
For some weeks Patsy Loring had been planning to give a party. It was to be on her birthday, which fell on the first day of December. Elizabeth had never been to a party in her life, and the thought of going to one, and to one so delightful as Patsy Loring's was sure to be, served to keep her awake at night and to absorb her mind by day. And then a present was to be bought, and although her aunts took little interest in the all-important subject, Elizabeth was allowed to go to Chestnut Street under the care of the maid, and after much hesitation and the visiting of many shops, a beautiful silver pencil was selected for Patsy to use in school.