Mrs. Sanderson to be sent away, the only course for Blanche, Marjorie, and myself is to leave the house."
The face of her father grew a shade paler, but for the moment that was the only expression of the inward fury. He saw at once that the dull fool who dared to beard him was no more than a cat's-paw of the arch-schemer. The mine was Charlotte's, even if fired by a hand infinitely less cunning.
"Is this a threat?" The surge of his rage was hard to control.
"You leave us no alternative," said Sarah doughtily. "Aunt Charlotte thinks in the circumstances we shall be fully justified in going to live with her. I think so, too; and I don't doubt that Blanche and Marjorie will see the matter in the same light."
"What do you think you will gain?" His voice shook with far more than vexation. "The proposal simply amounts to the washing of dirty linen in public."
"There is such a thing as personal dignity, father," said Sarah in her driest tone.
"No doubt; but how you are going to serve it by dancing to the piping of Charlotte I can't for the life of me see."
Sarah, however, could see something else. The blow had met already with some success. And she was fully determined to follow up a first advantage.
"Well, father"—her words were of warriorlike conciseness—"if you still insist on Mrs. Sanderson's presence here, that is the course we intend to take."
"Oh!" A futile monosyllable, yet at that moment full of meaning.
