that it was in her, to cry like that. Could she laugh with such abandon too? Could she defy with such passion, once aroused? What if she should go downstairs to Aunt Augusta now and proclaim her independence? What if she should dare? Her eyes grew big with astonishment as she contemplated the monstrousness of such an act! She didn't do it—it didn't seem quite possible yet, but she didn't sit down and write the letter Aunt Augusta had distinctly told her to write! That didn't seem quite possible either, with her eyes still red, and her breast still heaving from her passionate outcry against the ignominy of her position.
She undressed slowly and crawled into bed, lying awake for a long time, quivering with suspense, dreading the moment of Aunt Augusta's approach. It was Aunt Emma, however, who finally appeared on the threshold, explaining that she had been sent to fetch that letter. Reba spoke tremblingly from her pillow.
"My head ached a little," she said. "Tell Aunt Augusta that I'll write it in the morning."
Aunt Augusta would not speak to Reba in the morning. Even Aunt Emma's and the invalid's greetings were mere grunts. She was not allowed to help with the preparation of breakfast—briefly told please to keep out of the kitchen this morning, and the twenty minutes at the table, over the eggs, baked potatoes, doughnuts and coffee, were ominously silent. Afterward, when she approached the dishpan placed in the kitchen sink, preparatory to washing the dishes, as usual, Aunt Augusta snatched the dishcloth out of her hands and shoved her out of her place.
