Page:Emily Climbs.pdf/89

 ing the brass candlesticks and composing a poem called, simultaneously, when Aunt Laura told her that Aunt Elizabeth wanted to see her in the parlour.

Emily’s recollections of parlour interviews with Aunt Elizabeth were not especially pleasant. She could not recall any recent deed, done or left undone, which would justify this summons, yet she walked into the parlour quakingly: whatever Aunt Elizabeth was going to say to her it must have some special significance or it would not be said in the parlour. This was just one of Aunt Elizabeth’s little ways. Daffy, her big cat, slipped in beside her like a noiseless, grey shadow. She hoped Aunt Elizabeth would not shoo him out: his presence was a certain comfort: a cat is a good backer when he is on your side!

Aunt Elizabeth was knitting; she looked solemn but not offended or angry. She ignored Daff, but thought that Emily seemed very tall in the old, stately, twilit room. How quickly children grew up! It seemed but the other day since fair, pretty Juliet—Elizabeth Murray shut her thoughts off with a click.

“Sit down, Emily,” she said. “I want to have a talk with you.”

Emily sat down. So did Daffy, wreathing his tail comfortably about his paws. Emily suddenly felt that her hands were clammy and her mouth dry. She wished that she had knitting, too. It was nasty to sit there, unoccupied, and wonder what was coming. What come was the one thing she had never thought of. Aunt Elizabeth, after knitting a deliberate round on her stocking, said directly:

“Emily, would you like to go to Shrewsbury next week?”

Go to Shrewsbury? Had she heard aright?

“Oh, Aunt Elizabeth!” she said.

“I have been talking the matter over with your uncles and aunts,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “They agree with me that you should have some further education. It will be a considerable expense, of course—no, don’t interrupt. I