felt rather worried over it. Perhaps Great-Aunt Nancy did not approve of what she had done; or perhaps she still thought her too stupid to bother with.
Emily did not like to lie under the imputation of stupidity. She wrote a scathing epistle to Great-Aunt Nancy on a letter-bill in which she did not mince her opinions as to that ancient lady’s knowledge of the rules of epistolary etiquette; the letter was folded up and stowed away on the little shelf under the sofa but it served its purpose in blowing off steam and Emily had ceased to think about the matter when a letter came from Great-Aunt Nancy in July.
Elizabeth and Laura talked the matter over in the cook-house, forgetful or ignorant of the fact that Emily was sitting on the kitchen doorstep just outside. Emily was imagining herself attending a drawing-room of Queen Victoria. Robed in white, with ostrich plumes, veil, and court train, she had just bent to kiss the Queen’s hand when Aunt Elizabeth’s voice shattered her dream as a pebble thrown into a pool scatters the fairy reflection.
“What is your opinion, Laura,” Aunt Elizabeth was saying, “of letting Emily visit Aunt Nancy?”
Emily pricked up her ears. What was in the wind now?
“From her letter she seems very anxious to have the child,” said Laura.
Elizabeth sniffed.
“A whim—a whim. You know what her whims are. Likely by the time Emily got there she’d be quite over it and have no use for her.”
“Yes, but on the other hand if we don’t let her go she will be dreadfully offended and never forgive us—or Emily. Emily should have her chance.”
“I don’t know that her chance is worth much. If Aunt Nancy really has any money beyond her annuity—and that’s what neither you nor I nor any living soul
