“Katharine,” said Lady Barbara at breakfast, “you had better finish your drawing to-day; here is a note from Madame to say it will suit her best to come on Monday instead of Tuesday.”
“Oh! but, Aunt Barbara, I am going to Westbourne Road on Monday.”
“Oh, it is Sylvia’s birthday! and I am going to the Zoological Gardens with them.”
“And pray how came you to make this engagement without consulting me?”
“It was all settled at Bournemouth. I thought you knew! Did not Mrs. Wardour ask your leave for me?”
“Mrs. Wardour said something about hoping to see you in London, but I made no decided answer. I should not have allowed the intimacy there if I had expected that the family would be living in London; and there is no reason that it should continue. Constant intercourse would not be at all desirable.”
“But may I not go on Monday?” said Kate, her eyes opening wide with consternation.
“No, certainly not. You have not deserved that I should trust you; I do not know whom you might meet there: and I cannot have you going about with any chance person.”
“O Aunt Barbara! Aunt Barbara! I have promised!”
“Your promise can be of no effect without my consent.”
“But they will expect me. They will be so disappointed!”
“I cannot help that. They ought to have applied to me for my consent.”
“Perhaps,” said Kate hopefully, “Mrs. Wardour will write to-day. If she does, will you let me go?”
“No, Katharine. While you are under my charge, I am accountable for you, and I will not send you into society I know nothing about. Let me hear no more of this, but write a note excusing yourself, and we will let the coachman take it to the post.”
Kate was thoroughly enraged, and forgot even her fears. “I sha’n’t excuse myself,” she said; “I shall say you will not let me go.”
“You will write a proper and gentlewoman-like note,” said Lady Barbara quietly, “so as not to give needless offence.”
“I shall say,” exclaimed Kate more loudly, “that I can’t go because you won’t let me go near old friends.”
“Go into the schoolroom, and write a proper note, Katharine; I shall come presently, and see what you have said,” repeated Lady Barbara, commanding her own temper with some difficulty.
Kate flung away into the schoolroom, muttering, and in a tumult of exceeding disappointment, anger, and despair, too furious even to cry, and dashing about the room, calling Aunt Barbara after every horrible heroine she could think of, and pitying herself and her friends, till the thought of Sylvia’s disappointment stung her beyond all bearing. She was still rushing hither and thither, inflaming her passion, when her aunt opened the door.