"So I see," said Miss Minchin, witheringly.  "With the Princess Sara at the head of the table."  She turned fiercely on Sara.  "It is your doing, I know," she cried.  "Ermengarde would never have thought of such a thing.  You decorated the table, I suppose--with this rubbish." She stamped her foot at Becky.  "Go to your attic!" she commanded, and Becky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.