Sophia was petted.  Sophia was liable to be playfully tapped by Aunt Harriet’s thimble when Aunt Harriet was hemming dusters (for the elderly lady could lift a duster to her own dignity).  Sophia was called on two separate occasions, ‘My little butterfly.’  And Sophia was entrusted with the trimming of Aunt Harriet’s new summer bonnet.  Aunt Harriet deemed that Sophia was looking pale.  As the days passed, Sophia’s pallor was emphasized by Aunt Harriet until it developed into an article of faith, to which you were compelled to subscribe on pain of excommunication.  Then dawned the day when Aunt Harriet said, staring at Sophia as an affectionate aunt may:  “That child would do with a change.”  And then there dawned another day when Aunt Harriet, staring at Sophia compassionately, as a devoted aunt may, said:  “It’s a pity that child can’t have a change.”  And Mrs. Baines also stared—­and said:  “It is.”

And on another day Aunt Harriet said:  “I’ve been wondering whether my little Sophia would care to come and keep her old aunt company a while.”

There were few things for which Sophia would have cared less.  The girl swore to herself angrily that she would not go, that no allurement would induce her to go.  But she was in a net; she was in the meshes of family correctness.  Do what she would, she could not invent a reason for not going.  Certainly she could not tell her aunt that she merely did not want to go.  She was capable of enormities, but not of that.  And then began Aunt Harriet’s intricate preparations for going.  Aunt Harriet never did anything simply.  And she could not be hurried.  Seventy-two hours before leaving she had to commence upon her trunk; but first the trunk had to be wiped by Maggie with a damp cloth under the eye and direction of Aunt Harriet.  And the liveryman at Axe had to be written to, and the servants at Axe written to, and the weather prospects weighed and considered.  And somehow, by the time these matters were accomplished, it was tacitly understood that Sophia should accompany her kind aunt into the bracing moorland air of Axe.  No smoke at Axe!  No stuffiness at Axe!  The spacious existence of a wealthy widow in a residential town with a low death-rate and famous scenery!  “Have you packed your box, Sophia?” No, she had not.  “Well, I will come and help you.”

Impossible to bear up against the momentum of a massive body like Aunt Harriet’s!  It was irresistible.

The day of departure came, throwing the entire household into a commotion.  Dinner was put a quarter of an hour earlier than usual so that Aunt Harriet might achieve Axe at her accustomed hour of tea.  After dinner Maggie was the recipient of three amazing muslin aprons, given with a regal gesture.  And the trunk and the box were brought down, and there was a slight odour of black kid gloves in the parlour.  The waggonette was due and the waggonette appeared ("I can always rely upon Bladen!” said Aunt Harriet), and the door was opened, and Bladen, stiff on his legs, descended from the box and touched his hat to Aunt Harriet as she filled up the doorway.