She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. “I am only sorry that I did not ask you to go with me. ‘And with my grandfather Charvill also so very angry, it was not perhaps so very comfortable for my father. ’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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