“Pardon me, there has been no engagement,” said Carpentaria.
“Pardon me,” said Pauline, “there has been an engagement, because my cousin and your half-sister made it. Is there anybody better qualified than them to make an engagement?”
She lifted her chin.
“Well,” said Carpentaria. “Let us assume that there was an engagement.”
“They were to be married to-morrow,” remarked Pauline calmly.
“To-morrow!” Carpentaria exclaimed, aghast. “Secretly?”
“Why do you pretend to be surprised? As for the secrecy, your opposition has forced them to secrecy, because your sister is afraid of you.”
“And now that your cousin has disappeared, of course, they can’t be married to-morrow,” mused Carpentaria. “Hence this woe.”
“Why have you taken such extreme measures, such cruel measures, such wicked measures?” asked Pauline, full of indignation. “I can understand well enough that you, as a great artist, cannot be expected to behave like other people; I can understand you doing mad things, original things. I can understand you defying the law, and taking the most serious risks on yourself. But I can’t understand you being so cruel to your sister, and so utterly beside yourself, as to carry off Mr. Ilam by force.”
Her cheeks had flushed.