It is not strange then, perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror which would not be silenced.
At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind what Kate said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after the experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate did not know what she was talking about, anyway.

This was only another case of her trying "to manage." She did so love to manage--everything! At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's friends usually received.

It thanked Kate for her advice, and for her "kind willingness" to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would have to _live_ with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram--not William.
As for any "quarrel" being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there was with the new picture--the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain terms.

There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the engagement.
Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that the matter was now closed.

She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified, conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of the things she had said.
Very soon, however, she began to think--not so much of what _she_ had said--but of what Kate had said.