"Why?" Theresa began fussily, as the two maids left the room.
"Why?" Damaris took her up. "Because I prefer our being alone during
the remainder of this conversation. I understand that you want to ask
me about something to do with this excursion to Harchester. What is
it, please?"
"My dear Damaris," the other protested, startled and scenting unexpected
danger, "really your manner"--
"And yours.--Both perhaps would bear improvement. But that is by the way.
What is it, please, you want?"
"Really you assert yourself"--
"And you forget yourself--before the servants, too, I do not like it at
all. You should be more careful."
"Damaris," she cried aghast, confounded to the verge of tears--"Damaris!"
"Yes--I am giving you my full attention. Pray let us be practical," the
young girl said, sitting up tall and straight in the shaded lamp-light,
the white dinner-table spread with gleaming glass and silver, fine china,
fruit and flowers before her, the soft gloom of the long low room behind,
all tender hint of childhood banished from her countenance, and her eyes
bright now not with laughter but with battle.
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