Christmas, down on her head. Aunt Addie’s taste was not approved at New Moon but the hat was very becoming and Emily loved it. Aunt Ruth suddenly realised that Emily looked oddly mature and grown-up in it. But the knowledge did not as yet dampen her anger. Em’ly was gone—Em’ly had dared to defy her and disobey her—sly, underhand Em’ly—Em’ly must be taught a lesson.
At nine o’clock a stubborn, outraged Aunt Ruth locked all the doors and went to bed.
The play was a big success. Even the Queen’s students admitted that and applauded generously. Emily threw herself into her part with a fire and energy generated by her encounter with Aunt Ruth, which swept away all hampering consciousness of flannel petticoats and agreeably astonished Miss Errol, whose one criticism of Emily’s acting had been that she was rather cold and reserved in a part that called for more abandon. Emily was showered with compliments at the close of the performance. Even Evelyn Blake said graciously,
“Really, dear, you are quite wonderful—a star actress—a poet—a budding novelist—what surprise will you give us next?”
Thought Emily, “Condescending, insufferable creature!”
Said Emily, “Thank you!”
There was a happy, triumphant walk home with Teddy, a gay good-night at the gate, and then—the locked door.
Emily’s anger, which had been sublimated during the evening into energy and ambition, suddenly flared up again, sweeping everything before it. It was unbearable to be treated thus. She had endured enough at Aunt Ruth’s hands—this was the proverbial last straw. One could not put up with everything, even to get an education. One owed something to one’s dignity and self-respect.
There were three things she could do. She could thump the old-fashioned brass knocker on the door until Aunt Ruth came down and let her in, as she had done
