So it went on.  The night’s rest did not carry off the temper.  Sophy was monosyllabic, displeased if not attended to, but receiving attention like an affront, wanting nothing, but offended if it were not offered.  Albinia was exceedingly grieved.  She had some suspicion that Sophy might have been hurt by her going to Mrs. Ferrars instead of to her on their return from church, and made an attempt at an apology, but this was snubbed like an additional affront, and she could only bide the time, and be greatly disappointed at such an exhibition before the guests.

Winifred looked on, forbearing to hurt Albinia’s feelings by remarks, but in private compensating by little outbreaks with her husband, teasing him about his hopeful goddaughter, laughing at Albinia’s infatuation, and railing at Mr. Kendal’s endurance of the ill-humour, which she declared he promoted.

Maurice, as usual, was provoking.  He had no notion of giving up his godchild, he said, and he had no doubt that Edmund Kendal could manage his own child his own way.

‘Because of his great success in that line.’

’He is not what he was.  He uses his sense and principle now, and when they are fairly brought to bear, I know no one whom I would more entirely trust.’

’Well! it will be great good luck if I do not fall foul of Miss Sophy one of these days, if no one else will!’

Winifred was slightly irritable herself from weakness, and on the last morning of her stay she could bear the sight no longer.  Sophy had twice been surly to Lucy’s good offices, had given Albinia a look like thunder, and answered her father with a sulky displeasure that made Mrs. Ferrars exclaim, as soon as he had left the room, ’I should never allow a child of mine to peak to her father in that manner!’

Sophy swelled.  She did not think Mrs. Ferrars had any right to interfere between her and her father.  Her silence provoked Winifred to continue, ’I wonder if you have any compunction for having spoilt all your—­all Mrs. Kendal’s enjoyment of our visit.’

‘I am not of consequence enough to spoil any one’s pleasure.’

That was the last effort.  Albinia came into the room, with little Maurice holding her hand, and flourishing a whip.  He trotted up to the sofa, and began instantly to ‘whip sister Sophy;’ serve her right, if I had but the whip, thought Mrs. Ferrars, as his mother hurried to snatch him off.  Leaning over Sophy’s averted face, she saw a tear under her eyelashes, but took no notice.

Three seconds after, Sophy reared herself up, and with a rigid face and slow step walked out of the room.

‘Have you said anything to her?’ asked Albinia.

‘I could not help it,’ said Winifred, narrating what had past.  ’Have I done wrong?’

’Edmund cannot bear to have anything harsh said to her in these moods, especially about her behaviour to himself.  He thinks she cannot help it—­but it may be well that she should know how it appears to other people, for I cannot bear to see his patient kindness spurned.  Only, you know, she values it in her heart.  I am afraid we shall have a terrible agony now.’