"It always is," said the aunt, "but it won't always be."
"Don't think I care a straw about not seeing Mr. Vernon again," said Betty hastily. "It's not that."
"Of course not," said the aunt sympathetically.
"No,--but Father was so hateful--you've no idea. If I'd--if I'd run away and got married secretly he couldn't have made more fuss."
"You're a little harsh--just a little. Of course you and I know exactly how it was, but remember how it looked to him. Why, it couldn't have looked worse if you really had been arranging an elopement."
"He hadn't got his arm around me," insisted Betty; "it was somewhere right away in the background. He was holding himself up with it."
"Don't I tell you I understand all that perfectly? What I want to understand is how you feel about Paris. Are you absolutely off the idea?"
"I couldn't go if I wasn't."
"I wonder what you think Paris is like," mused the aunt. "I suppose you think it's all one wild razzle-dazzle--one delirious round of--of museums and picture galleries."
"No, I don't," said Betty rather shortly.
"If you went you'd have to work."
"There's no chance of my going."
"Then we'll put the idea away and say no more about it. Get me my Continental Bradshaw out of my dressing-bag: I'm no use here. Nobody loves me, and I'll go to Norway by the first omnibus to-morrow morning."
"Don't," said Betty; "how can you say nobody loves you?"
"Your step-father doesn't, anyway. That's why I can make him do what I like when I take the trouble. When people love you they'll never do anything for you,--not even answer a plain question with a plain yes or no. Go and get the Bradshaw. You'll be sorry when I'm gone."
"Aunt Julia, you don't really mean it."
"Of course not. I never mean anything except the things I don't say. The Bradshaw!"
Betty came and sat on the arm of her aunt's chair.
"It's not fair to tease me," she said, "and tantalise me. You know how mizzy I am."
"No. I don't know anything. You won't tell me anything. Go and get--"
"Dear, darling, pretty, kind, clever Aunt," cried Betty, "I'd give my ears to go."
"Then borrow a large knife from cook, and sharpen it on the front door-step! No--I don't mean to use it on your step-father. I'll have your pretty ears mummified and wear them on my watch-chain. No--mind my spectacles! Let me go. I daresay it won't come to anything."