"I shall see about it when they come."

"Oh, but--but I can't have them there--Sylvia's own, own cousins--and
not play with them! Please, Aunt Barbara!"

"You ought to know that this impetuosity never disposes me
favourably, Katharine; I will inquire and consider."

Kate had learnt wisdom enough not to say any more just then; but the
thought of sociability, the notion of chattering freely to young
companions, and of a real game at play, and the terror of having all
this withheld, and of being thought too proud and haughty for the
Wardours, put her into such an agony, that she did not know what she
was about, made mistakes even in reading, and blundered her music
more than she had over done under Lady Barbara's teaching; and then,
when her aunt reproved her, she could not help laying down her head
and bursting into a fit of crying. However, she had not forgotten
the terrible tea-drinking, and was resolved not to be as bad as at
that time, and she tried to stop herself, exclaiming between her
sobs, "O Aunt Bar--bar--a,--I--can--not--help it!" And Lady Barbara
did not scold or look stern. Perhaps she saw that the little girl
was really trying to chock herself, for she said quite kindly,
"Don't, my dear."

And just then, to Kate's great wonder, in came Lady Jane, though it
was full half an hour earlier than she usually left her room; and
Lady Barbara looked up to her, and said, quite as if excusing
herself, "Indeed, Jane, I have not been angry with her."

And Kate, somehow, understanding that she might, flung herself down