Johanna, in the mildly didactic manner she invariably
used towards her sister. "But I think she is only tired--or a little
cross."

"Oh, that is not likely," Dove hastened to interpose.

"I am not cross, Joan," said Ephie angrily. "And if it was my fault you
had to come--I've enjoyed myself very much, and I shall go again, as
often as I like. But I won't be teased--I won't indeed!"

This was the sharpest answer Johanna had ever received from Ephie. She
looked at her in dismay, but made no response, for of nothing was
Johanna more afraid than of losing the goodwill Ephie bore her.
Mentally she put her sister's pettishness down to the noise and heat of
the theatre, and it was an additional reason for bearing Wagner and his
music a grudge. Dove also made no further effort to converse
connectedly, but his silence was of a conciliatory kind, and, as they
advanced along the PROMENADE, he could not deny himself the pleasure of
drawing the pretty, perverse child's attention to the crossings, the
ruts in the road, the best bits of pavement, with a: "Walk you here,
Miss Ephie," "Take care," "Allow me," himself meanwhile dancing from
one side of the footpath to the other, until the young girl was almost
distracted.

"I can see for myself, thank you. I have eyes in my head as well as
anyone else," she exclaimed at length; and to Johanna's amazed:
"Ephie!" she retorted: "Yes, Joan, you think no one has a right to be
rude but yourself."

Johanna was more hurt by these words than she would have confessed. She
had hitherto believed that Ephie--affectionate, lazy little
Ephie--accepted her individual peculiarities as an integral part of her
nature: it had not occurred to her that Ephie might be standing aloof
and considering her objectively--let alone mentally using such an
unkind word as rudeness of her. But Ephie's fit of ill-temper, for such
it undoubtedly was, made Johanna see things differently; it hinted at
unsuspected, cold scrutinies in the past, and implied a somewhat laming
care of one's words in the days to come, which would render it
difficult ever again to be one's perfectly natural self.

Had Johanna not been so occupied with her own feelings, she would have
heard the near tears in Ephie's voice; it was with the utmost
difficulty that the girl kept them back, and at the house-door, she had
vanished up the stairs long before Dove had finished saying good-night.
In the corridor, she hesitated whether or no, according