"I believe she has a very uncomfortable time of it with Miss Waller, who is a Tartar, from all accounts."
"Then why does she stay with her?"
"What else can she do, with that child?"
An unpleasant quarter of an hour awaited May within her aunt's door, which she entered with a sinking heart. Doris was instantly bundled off to bed, after which Miss Waller—in thin, high tones, very different from her suave society accents—moralised on May's enormities in absenting herself without notice, whilst Mr. Lang vainly awaited her return. He had just gone, evidently vexed at her non-appearance.
"Mr. Lang has no jurisdiction over me!" May was irritated into retorting at last, whereupon her aunt's frown became portentous.
"Mr. Lang is my friend, and, as such, I insist that you treat him with respect! Pray, who are you, to set your will against mine? I paid for the very dress you have on, and every article you possess, and but for me you and Doris would be in the workhouse!"
May would not trust herself to reply, but went away to her own room, there to shed some very bitter tears. As she eyed her tall figure in the glass, arrayed in the beautiful garments for which she had to pay so dearly, she heartily envied the three happy girls in their flat, as described by Lulu. How fortunate they were, to be able to do as they pleased, and indebted to no living soul for anything! "Oh, to be free!—to be free!" she panted, realising her slavery as she had never realised it before.