“I say, I’ve an awfully big crow to pluck with you, old girl.”
“All right,” I answered gaily. “I have got a bag to put the feathers in—now show me the crow?”
“I met Balthasar in the club this evening. He has been away for a week or two; he was frightfully black with me for some reason, and then, when I asked him why he had the hump, it all came out! It seems that that day when he called upon you to pay his respects in full state, and was talking to you and advising you with regard to a certain affair—of course I mean Mrs. Hayes-Billington—you actually rose and summoned your servant and turned him out of the house! Now I want an explanation?”
“And you shall have it,” I answered with some heat, and then as rapidly and as forcibly as I could find words I poured out my wrath and the whole tale. I spoke of Balthasar’s insinuations, his vague threats, his loathsome familiarity, and his audacious suggestion that I should accompany him to the mines to see Mrs. Hayes-Billington. I declared that when he threatened me and insinuated that I was in his power and living under false pretences, I naturally got up and commanded Michael to send for his car. At last I ceased, breathless. For a moment Ronnie did not speak, but I felt instinctively that he was impressed by my information.
“I see,” he said, “the fellow lost his head—I know he admires you enormously.”
At this announcement I stamped my foot—old style.
“But, Sis, you must remember that he is a foreigner and make allowances; they are all so hasty and emotional. Balthasar assured me he had come to see you with the kindest intentions, and that you threw him out of the house as if he were a mad dog! He says he shall never forget the way you drew yourself up and looked at him.”
“I am delighted to hear that,” I answered heartlessly. “I hope I have planted an evergreen in his memory, and that I may never see him again.”
“Oh well, for that matter,” and Ronnie gave a rather nervous cough, “it would not do for you and him to be really at daggers drawn, for he has been awfully useful to me; in fact, I may say I am under some obligation to him. And so are you, old girl, if he continues to keep his mouth shut.”
“Oh, my dear Ronnie,” I protested, “why should we have anything to do with such a horror? I’d a thousand times rather be under an obligation to Baker, the butler at Torrington.”