“There might ha’ been a reason,” said she, speaking low and hurriedly. “You might ha’ saved me from this, Mr. Raymond; and her too; one time, you might.”
“Why, what on earth is the matter?” He looked up. The Tredinnis carriage and pair of grays came over the knoll at a smart trot, and drew up before the gate.
“Matter?” Lizzie echoed with a short laugh. “Oh, nuthin’. I’m goin’ to lay the curse on her, that’s all.”
“You shall not!” There was no time to lose.
Honoria’s trustee—the second cousin from London, a tall, clean-shaven man with a shiny bald head, and a shiny hat in his hand—had stepped out and was helping the bride to alight. What Lizzie meant Taffy could not tell; but there must be no scene. He caught her hand. “Mind—I say you shall not!” he whispered.
“Lemme go—you’re creamin’ my fingers.”
“Be quiet then.”
At that moment Honoria passed up the path. Her wedding gown almost brushed him as he stood wringing Lizzie’s hand. She did not appear to see him; but he saw her face beneath the bridal veil, and it was hard and white.
“The proud toad!” said Lizzie. “I’m no better’n dirt, I suppose, though from the start she wasn’ above robbin’ me. Aw, she’s sly ... Mr. Raymond, I’ll curse her as she comes out, see if I don’t!”
“And I swear you shall not,” said Taffy. The scent of Honoria’s orange-blossom seemed to cling about them as they stood.