Cornelia turned upon her with a flash of reproof. "Why couldn't you tell me that before, I want to know? Pretty mean I should have felt, backing out of a thing like that! I wouldn't disappoint the old dear for a fortune. Is it the one with the flat hair, and the little ringlets dangling at the sides? They are too 'cute for anything, those ringlets. Yes! I guessed she was the one, for I noticed her clothes looked all used up. Don't you worry! I'll take tea with Miss Nesbitt as often as she wants, and behave so pretty you'll admire to see me. That's an olive branch to carry in to Aunt Soph--eh? I reckon she'll be pretty dusty." "I reckon she will." Elma glanced with a half-fearful smile at her companion's unruffled face. "I wouldn't be in your shoes for a hundred pounds. Miss Briskett is formidable enough when she is pleased; but when she is angry--! Cornelia, aren't you frightened?" Cornelia's joyous peal of laughter floated away on the air, and caught the ears of the industrious Morris, who was sweeping the path a hundred yards away. He turned to lean on his brush and stare, while Elma glanced nervously at the curtained windows. "I never was scared in my life that I know of, and I'm not going to begin with my very own aunt. I rather like a fizzle now and then--it freshens one up. Don't you worry about me! I'm quite able to stand up for myself." She pushed open the gate of The Nook as she spoke and sauntered up the path; laughing, bareheaded, radiantly unashamed. Miss Briskett beheld her approach from her seat in the corner of the drawing-room, and two spots of colour shone dully on her thin cheek bones. The hands which held her knitting trembled with indignation, and her eyes welcomed the culprit with a steely flash. "Cornelia, are you aware that you are forbidden to trespass on the grass of this park?" "Yes, ma'am." "You are also aware, I presume, that to wander alone bareheaded is not the habit of young ladies in this neighbourhood, and that it is intensely annoying to me that you should do so?" "Yes, ma'am." "You _do_ know! You are not ashamed to acknowledge it! Then may I inquire why you have deliberately chosen to do what you know to be wrong?" Cornelia drew up a comfortable chair and seated herself by her aunt's side, arranging her draperies with a succession of little pulls and pats. She rested one elbow on the arm of the chair, and leant her chin upon the upraised palm, a pretty, thoughtful-looking pose into which she fell naturally in leisure moments. The cat blinked at her through sleepy eyelids, then, deliberately ignoring the devotion of years, rose from its place by its mistress's side, stretched itself with feline grace, and stalked majestically across the rug to nestle against the soft white skirts. Miss Briskett eyed its desertion over the brim of her spectacles. Poor lady! her measure of love received was so small, that she felt a distinct pang at the defection.