For once Dr. Trenire did not appear particularly pleased with his assiduity, and Kitty turned dejectedly away.  The letter, the fatal letter, was gone, her hopes were ended, fate was too strong for them.  And to add to her trouble there had been a hubbub in the kitchen, which meant a quarrel.  Oh dear, what could be the matter now?  Emily was in a bad temper again, she supposed.  Emily generally was.

As she went up to her room to change she met Emily coming down, and whatever else she might be in doubt about, she was in none as to the signs on Emily’s face.  It was at “very stormy,” and no mistake.

“I am wet through,” said Kitty brightly, hoping to smooth away the frown; “but oh it was grand to see the storm across the downs.  I did enjoy it.”

But Emily was not to be cajoled into taking an interest in anything.  “I’m glad somebody’s been able to enjoy themselves,” she said pertly, and walked away down the stairs.

Poor Kitty’s brightness vanished.  Was there never to be anything but worry and unpleasantness?  All her excitement, and interest, and hopefulness evaporated, leaving her depressed and dispirited.  The memory rushed over her of former home-comings, before the dear mother died; the orderly comfort, the cheerfulness and joy which seemed always to be a part of the house in those days; and her eyes grew misty with the ache and loneliness of her heart, and the sense of failure which weighed her down.  There rose before her that dear, happy face, with the bright smile and the ready interest that had never failed her.

“O mother, mother,” she cried, “I want you so, I want you so!  Everything is wrong, and I can’t get them right.  I am no use to any one, and I—­I don’t know how to do better.”

The hot tears were brimming up and just about to fall over, when flying footsteps sounded on the stairs—­Betty’s footsteps.  Kitty closed the door of her room, though she knew it was of no use.  It was Betty’s room too, and nothing, certainly not a mere hint, could keep Betty out; and she sighed, as she had often sighed before, for a room of her very own, for some place where she could be alone sometimes to think, or read, or make plans, or hide when the old heartache became too much for her.

But Betty shared her room, and Betty had every right to walk in, and Betty did so.  She was quiet, and vouchsafed no account of her doings, but she was quite calm and unperturbed.

“What has made Emily in such a bad temper?” asked Kitty wearily.

“Emily always is in a bad temper, isn’t she?” asked Betty placidly.  “I don’t take any notice of her.”  Then with some slight interest, “What did she say to you?”

“She didn’t say anything,” answered Kitty, “but she looked temper, and walked temper, and breathed temper.  Have you got a nice supper for us?  I am starving, and I am sure father must be.”

Betty did not answer enthusiastically; in fact, she gave no real answer at all, but merely remarked in an off-hand manner, “I shouldn’t have thought any one could want much to eat in this weather.”