"Good heavens, Barbara," Sis said, while I hugged father, "you certainly
need to be pressed."
"I daresay I'll be the better for a hot iron," I retorted, "but at least
I shan't need it on my hair." My hair is curly while hers is straight.
"Boarding school wit!" she said, and stocked to the motor.
Mother was in the car and glad to see me, but as usual she managed to
restrain her enthusiasm. She put her hands over some Orkids she was
wearing when I kissed her. She and Sis were on their way to something or
other.
"Trimmed up like Easter hats, you two!" I said.
"School has not changed you, I fear, Barbara," mother observed. "I hope
you are studying hard."
"Exactly as hard as I have to. No more, no less," I regret to
confess that I replied. And I saw Sis and mother exchange glances of
signifacance.
We dropped them at the Reception and father went to his office and I
went on home alone. And all at once I began to be embittered. Sis had
everything, and what had I? And when I got home, and saw that Sis had
had her room done over, and ivory toilet things on her dressing table,
and two perfectly huge boxes of candy on a stand and a Ball Gown laid
out on the bed, I almost wept.
My own room was just as I had left it. It had been the night nursery,
and there was still the dent in the mantel where I had thrown a hair
brush at Sis, and the ink spot on the carpet at the foot of the bed, and
everything.
Mademoiselle had gone, and Hannah, mother's maid, came to help me off
with my things. I slammed the door in her face, and sat down on the bed
and RAGED.
They still thought I was a little girl. They PATRONIZED me. I would
hardly have been surprised If they had sent up a bread and milk supper
on a tray. It was then and there that I made up my mind to show them
that I was no longer a mere child. That the time was gone when they
could shut me up in the nursery and forget me. I was seventeen years and
eleven days old, and Juliet, in Shakspeare, was only sixteen when she
had her well-known affair with Romeo.
I had no plan then. It was not until the next afternoon that the thing
sprung (sprang?) full-pannoplied from the head of Jove.