GIRLIE could only gasp. Elfreda’s speech in its frigid nonchalance was
stupefying. More fully than ever did she realize that she was in the
toils of an Evil Genius. This girl, this amazing girl, had a will of
iron. She was growing positively afraid of her.
It was all very well for Lady Elfreda Catkin to issue an ukase, but
it was not she who would have to foot the bill. She was a person of
importance, she had powerful friends, her position was secure. No
matter how deep and angry the waters, no matter how menacing the sky,
she belonged to the class that was able to weather the most violent
storms. But for the Girlie Casses of the planet it was a very different
matter. What for the one might be nothing more than a new and original,
if rather perilous, form of entertainment, for the other might mean the
end of all things.
Girlie’s mind was a chaos as her scared eyes met the implacable ones
that were fixed on hers. General damnation was their only portent. She
knew she was done for, anyway. It was but a question of putting off
the evil day. But if she bolted now she would at least save herself
from being publicly found out, whereas if she waited for the inevitable
exposure there was no saying what might happen to her.
“Oh, but I daren’t let him propose--I simply daren’t.”
Elfreda harshly told her not to be foolish.
“But---!” Girlie knew only too well that her wriggles were miserably
inadequate. And in the midst of them yet another complication presented
itself. She remembered that there might be two Richmonds in the field.
Signs had not been wanting that the little baronet also was inclined to
view her with a favorable eye. Certain cadences of his voice lingered
in her ears even now. There seemed but one thing to do. As one seeking
the aid of a strength beyond her own she confessed to Elfreda that Sir
Toby Philpot also might be on the verge of a proposal.
To this admission Elfreda did not immediately reply. But with that
pitiless glance that had the power of striking far below the surface of
things, she looked at the Deputy. Was this the kind of little idiot who
believes that every man who smiles as he opens a door is in love with
her, or was it literally true that at Clavering Park she was _un succès
fou_? Elfreda continued to analyze her mercilessly. Yes, in her way,
she was undoubtedly a pretty little thing. And the half-scared manner
and the timid voice made her rather a plaintive, rather a pathetic
little thing, so that after all it would not be so very remarkable if
she made a strong appeal to the male. At the same time, the idea of
her playing such havoc was ludicrous and, from Elfreda’s own private
standpoint, more than a little humiliating.
Here was the richest possible commentary on the sort of people whom her
own parents considered good enough for her. Had fuel been needed to
sustain Elfreda’s fighting spirit it was here in abundance. If only for
pure devilment now she would go on with the farce. An odd sparkle in
her eyes must have proclaimed her intention, for at the mere sight of
it the hapless Deputy gave one further gasp.
“Oh, please--please, do come back with me and put things right!”
Girlie would have done as well to have appealed to a stone. “No, not
yet.” There was not a hint of compromise. “You must keep it up--until
after Tuesday at any rate. I will come to you one day next week,
perhaps Wednesday or Thursday. And if you will do your best and stand
it as well as you can, no harm shall come to you. I promise that.”
It was meager comfort. But to judge by Elfreda’s eyes there was no hope
just then of anything else. Be the cost what it might her decision
was made. Poor Girlie clung for support to an arm of the sofa. Sheer
beneath her feet yawned a chasm.
As if to intensify this grim illusion Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson chose that
moment to return to the drawing room. Her return, moreover, was fraught
with purpose. “Lady Elfreda.” So flutelike was the lady of the house
that the new governess could not help wondering privately how her voice
would have sounded at the Queen’s Hall!--“Won’t you stay to luncheon?
We shall be _so_ glad if you will.”
The answer of the distinguished visitor was to regard the new governess
with a scared and apprehensive eye. But that lady was quite equal to
the situation. She turned to Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson and said with a
kind of frigid decision that forbade any possible doubt, “Lady Elfreda
is expected for luncheon at Clavering Park.”
Thereupon, in a manner that left no loophole for argument, Miss Cass
moved to the drawing room door and opened it. As her eyes drew Girlie
towards it they seemed full of a latent menace. The visitor was just
able to muster a half audible “Good-by. Thank you so much,” for the
benefit of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, before she was sternly shepherded if
not actually hustled by Elfreda across the hall.
“Do your best. Don’t be afraid. I will let you know the day I can come
next week. And remember that I take all responsibility.” Amid this
spate of final low-toned instructions poor Girlie was put out on to the
gravel and the front door of The Laurels closed rather peremptorily
upon her.
From behind the drawing room curtains Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson watched
the slight form of the visitor fade from view along the carriage
drive. A tempest raged in the bosom of the lady of the house. If the
manner of Miss Cass meant anything she looked down upon her employer;
her arbitrary dismissal of the luncheon project could bear no other
interpretation. However, the fury of the storm was a little assuaged
by a wholesome curiosity; otherwise it might have gone hard with Miss
Cass. Not only was that amazing person called upon by the aristocracy,
but her attitude towards it was that of one who claims a half scornful
equality. She had no more respect for Lady Elfreda Catkin than she had
for any one else!
There was balm in that thought. For several days past Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson had been at the point of telling the new governess
that she would not suit, and of advertising for some one else. Indeed,
for the sake of General Norris and dear Dolores, she had been obliged
to ask Miss Cass to dine upstairs. But even now Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson
could not quite bring herself to give that lady notice. She was far too
interesting; in fact a type of governess altogether new in her present
employer’s rather chequered experience. The children hated her, but she
might be good for them. She would be able to teach them self-assurance.
Taking one consideration with another, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson still
shrank from the drastic step of giving Miss Cass her congé. She would
wait, at any rate, until she had told the story to Dolores. Whether she
would take the advice of Dolores and get rid of her, that, of course,
was the point to decide. Poor dear Dolores loathed Miss Cass.