Hermione was endeavouring in a hasty fashion to put her papers into the writing-case, but her hands shook so violently that the attempt was a failure. She let them drop, and turned again to Francesca, her eyes wide-open and blazing still, while her cheeks, brow, and ears were one uniform burning red. As she stood rigidly erect, a kind of convulsion of passion seemed to pass again and again through the slight figure, and her voice had grown hoarse and rapid. Those who had known Hermione in childhood would have recognised at once a recurrence of the ungovernable childish temper, but such an outbreak had not been seen for years, and her present companions could hardly believe their own eyes, so astonishing was the change in the fair graceful girl they had known thus far. Julia and Mittie stared, aghast, and even Mrs. Trevor felt uncomfortable.
"I will not be managed by you as if I were a mere child."
"You know that it is not so!" Hermione said. "You know that you have the settling of everything—not Harvey or Julia. They have the right, but you have not. If they choose to submit to your dictation, they can do so; but I will not. It is unbearable. I am made a mere cipher in the house—treated as nobody—while you—Yes, you may toss your head and look scornful, but it is true, and you know it! your one wish is to trample on me—to make me feel myself a dependent! And you shall not succeed. If I had my rights, things would be very different; and you know that too. I will not be managed by you as if I were a mere child. Say what you will, I do not care. I will not go to East Bourne."
"If you please, ma'am—" implored Slade at the door, in great distress. He had spoken three times, vainly seeking to win the attention of the listeners to this unexpected tirade. There were other listeners also. Behind Slade, in the open doorway, full spectators of the scene, stood Mr. Fitzalan and Harry together—Mr. Fitzalan wearing a look of most sorrowful gravity, while Harry was actually white to the lips. "This— Hermione!!" seemed written on every line of his face. Slade was almost as crimson as Hermione herself, with his grief and shame for her.
"If you please, ma'am—"
"Oh, it is Mr. Fitzalan!" Julia murmured, with a nervous start, and she stood up to receive her guests.
Hermione looked at no one. Even then a dim consciousness of how her words must have sounded to others did exist; but passion had too complete a mastery to allow of any resumption of her usual manner. Without a word to her friends she rushed rather than walked from the room.
But for Mrs. Trevor's presence, it may be doubted whether anybody would have spoken during the first two minutes. Hands were shaken and seats were found, an oppression of embarrassment overpowering them all. Julia had a scared look, Mr. Fitzalan was lost in thought, and Harry seemed to be dazed. Mrs. Trevor threw herself into the breach, rallying first, and bent upon smoothing things down. It would not do to ignore what the Fitzalans had overheard. Her aim should be to soften the impression made.
"You have come at rather an unfortunate moment," she said pleasantly to Mr. Fitzalan. "Hermione is not often so excited—indeed, I may say that I have never seen her so before. It is quite a new experience," and Francesca sighed. "We were discussing plans, and some little remark of mine gave her pain, I am afraid. She is rather too sensitive, poor girl—natural, no doubt! Her position is a trying one, of course, do what one will to lighten it; and she has seen very little of life, so she is disposed to magnify small troubles."