“Ten miles,” Mrs. Delvin answered.
“How can I get there to-day?”
“My dear, you can’t get there.”
“Pardon me, Mrs. Delvin, I must get there.”
“Pardon me. My brother represents you in this matter. Leave it to my brother.”
The tone taken by Mirabel’s sister was positive, to say the least of it. Emily thought of what her faithful old servant had said, and began to doubt her own discretion in so readily showing the letter. The mistake—if a mistake it was—had however been committed; and, wrong or right, she was not disposed to occupy the subordinate position which Mrs. Delvin had assigned to her.
“If you will look at Mrs. Rook’s letter again,” Emily replied, “you will see that I ought to answer it. She supposes I am in London.”
“Do you propose to tell Mrs. Rook that you are in this house?” Mrs. Delvin asked.
“Certainly.”
“You had better consult my brother, before you take any responsibility on yourself.”