“Oh, yes, Mrs. Monnerie—this afternoon; but, as you know, I was a little doubtful about the address.” She hastened to pass me a plate of button-sized ratafias; and Mrs. Monnerie slowly turned a smiling but not quite ingenuous face aside.
“What a curious experience the circus will be for you, Midgetina,” Fanny was murmuring softly, glancing back over her shoulder towards the tea-table. “Personally, I believe the Signorina Angélique and the rest of it is only one of those horrible twisted up prodigies with all the bones out of place. Mightn’t it, Mrs. Monnerie, be a sort of shock, you know, for Miss M.? She’s still a little pale and peaky.”
“She shall come, I say, and see for herself,” replied Mrs. Monnerie petulantly.
There was a pause. Mrs. Monnerie gazed vacantly at the tiers of hothouse flowers that decorated the window-recess. Susan sat with a little forked frown between her brows. She never seemed to derive the least enjoyment from this amiable, harmless midget-baiting. Not at any rate one hundredth part as much as I did. Fanny set Plum begging for yet another ratafia. And then, after a long, deep breath, my skin all “gooseflesh,” I looked straight across at my old friend.
“I don’t think, Mrs. Monnerie,” I said, “if you don’t mind—I don’t think I really wish to go.”
As if Joshua had spoken, the world stood still.
Mrs. Monnerie slowly turned her head. “Another headache?”
“No, I’m perfectly well, thank you. But, whatever I may have said, I don’t approve of that poor creature showing herself for—for money. She is selling herself. It must be because there’s no other way out.”
Finger and thumb outstretched above the cringing little dog, Fanny was steadily watching me. With a jerk of my whole body I turned on her. “You agreed with me, Fanny, didn’t you, in the garden yesterday afternoon?”
Placidly drooped her lids: “Trust, Plum, trust!”
“What!” croaked Mrs. Monnerie, “you, Miss Bowater! Guilty of that silly punctilio! She was merely humouring you, child. It will be a most valuable experience. You shall be perfectly protected. Pride, eh? Or is it jealousy? Now what would you say if I promise to try and ransom the poor creature?—buy her out? pension her off? Would that be a nice charitable little thing to do? She might make you quite a pleasant companion.”
“Ah, Mrs. Monnerie, please let me buy her out. Let me be the intermediary!” I found myself, hands clasped in lap, yearningly stooping towards her, just like a passionate young lady in a novel.
She replied ominously, knitting her thick, dark eyebrows. “And how’s that to be done, pray, if you sulk here at home?”
“I think, Aunt Alice, it’s an excellent plan,” cried Susan, “much, much more considerate. She could write. Think of all those horrible people! The poor thing may have been kidnapped, forced to do her silly tricks like one of those wretched, little barbered-up French poodles. Anyhow, I don’t suppose she’s there—or anywhere else, for that matter—for fun!”
Even Susan’s sympathy had its sting.
“Thank you, Susan,” was Mrs. Monnerie’s acid retort. “Your delicate soul can always be counted on. But advice, my child, is much the more valuable when asked for.”
“Of course I mustn’t interfere, Mrs. Monnerie,” interposed Fanny sweetly; “but wouldn’t it perhaps be as well for you to see the poor thing first? She mayn’t be quite—quite a proper kind of person, may she? At least that’s what the newspapers seem to suggest. Not, of course, that Miss M. wouldn’t soon teach her better manners.”
Mrs. Monnerie’s head wagged gently in time to her shoe. “H’m. There’s something in that, Miss Worldly-Wise. Reports don’t seem to flatter her. But still, I like my own way best. Poppet must come and see. After all, she should be the better judge.”
Never before had Mrs. Monnerie so closely resembled a puffed-out tawny owl.
I looked at her fixedly: shook my head. “No: no judge,” I spluttered. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Monnerie, but I won’t go.”
There was no misdoubting her anger now. The brows forked. The loose-skinned hands twitched. She lifted herself in her chair. “Won’t,” she said. “You vex me, child. And pray don’t wriggle at me in that hysterical fashion. You are beside yourself; trembling like a mouse. You have been mooning alone too much, I can see. Run away and nurse that silly head, and at the same time thank heaven that you have more time and less need of the luxury than someone else we know of. It may be a low life, but it needs courage. I’ll say that for her.”
She swept her hands to her knees over her silken lap, and turned upon Susan.
Wanderslore
L
I had been dismissed. But Mrs. Monnerie’s anger had a curious potency. For a moment I could scarcely see out of my eyes, and the floor swayed under me as I scrambled down from my chair. It took me at least a minute, even with the help of a stool, to open the door.
Like a naughty child I had been put in the corner and then sent to bed. Good. There could be no going back now. I could count on Fanny—the one thing she asked was to be free of me. As for Mrs. Monnerie, her flushed and sullen countenance convinced me that my respite would be undisturbed. There was only impulsive Susan to think of. And as if in answer, there came a faint tap, and the door softly opened to admit her gentle head and shoulders.
“Ah, my dear,” she whispered across at me. “I’m so sorry; and so helpless. Don’t take it too hardly. I have been having my turn, too.”
I twisted round, wet face and hands, as I stood stooping over my washbowl on its stool, scrutinized her speechlessly, and
