Val was made to realize that now she had crossed the Rubicon. Up to that hour she had been on probation, but this change once effected, she was "beyond the pale." Not that she was harassed, nagged, scolded; that she would have understood and known how to meet; she was ignored, not spoken to, not even seen. For days she might have been thin air, so little did her grandmother seem able to realize her corporal presence. There had been no doubt in Val's mind from the first but what Emmie was the favourite here. The very servants, she saw, were under the spell of Emmie's pretty ways, and in any time of trouble took it for granted that the imperious Val had been the aggressor. Natural and inevitable as was this attitude of the entire household (for Mr. Gano was spared all details, and did not count), it was not calculated to make the sisters better friends, or win Val to a more amenable mind. Nobody, from Val's point of view, could care much about what Jerusha and Venie thought, but her grandmother's good opinion was somehow, even at this stage, a secretly coveted honor. Yet there was no blinking the fact Emmie was her pet. This form of putting the hard underlying fact was the more satisfactory in that one could as soon imagine Mrs. Gano dancing the Highland fling as having a pet. Gran'ma! who wouldn't let a dog or even a bird into the house, and whom no one could fancy nursing or caressing anything on earth! There was a suggestion of the ludicrous, a faint ironic aroma, in the phrase, which aroused angry passions. It fitted in, too, with all manner of exigencies. In any event it was apposite to remark, "Of course Emmie's the pet." This could be said with such effect of scorn that Emmie found no refuge save in tears. "What's the matter?" inquired Mrs. Gano. She had happened on the twain as they were loitering in the hall before going off to church. Emmie wept on. Val set her little red mouth doggedly. Her grandmother glared. "Now what have you been doing to this poor child?" she demanded. Gran'ma's eyes were very strange when she was angry, as Val had frequently confided to the cobwebs in the wood-shed--unlike anybody's on earth--piercing, glittery; made you cold down your back. Servants shook and scuttled when she looked at them like that. Val herself was always reminded of "Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night," and braced herself by saying, internally: "I ain't 'fraid o' tigers and I ain't 'fraid o' gran'ma"--this, too, with a fine sense of climax. "What is it, Emmie? Stop crying. I can't have this noise." "V--Val says I'm your p--pet." "Nonsense! I have no pets. You are not to worry Emmeline. Never say that again. Understand?" Val was silent. Gran'ma's eyes were awful. "Are you going to promise, or do you prefer to spend the day alone?" That had been tried, and proved a great waste of time and opportunity. "Yes, I promise." "Very well; now go to church; Venie is waiting."