“Well, I can’t have Miss Commerell talked about, and I won’t. And that’s all about it.”
“Oh, it’s about Miss Commerell they are talking? I understood you to mean it was about my coming here.”
Then Mrs Bateman lost her temper, and, as women of her stamp usually do under such circumstances, she became rude.
“Bless the man, is he quite a fool?” she broke forth, fairly quivering with rage. “Don’t you, or won’t you, understand that you are the cause of getting Nidia talked about? You! And I won’t have it. Indeed, under the circumstances, your acquaintance with Miss Commerell had better cease. She is in my charge, remember.”
“Yes. But she is not a child. I should first like to hear Miss Commerell’s own views in the matter; indeed, shall do so before deciding on whether to fall in with yours or not, and so I tell you frankly, Mrs Bateman. Of course this is your house, and I need hardly say I shall visit it no more.”
“One moment. I have not quite done,” she went on, for he had risen to go. “Again you must forgive me for plain-speaking; but let me advise you, as a friend, to entertain no hopes that can only end in disappointment. You are probably aware that Miss Commerell’s father is a very wealthy man, and therefore you will not be surprised to learn that he has mapped out a brilliant future for his only daughter.”
The speaker was alive to the slight stirring of dismay that passed like a ripple over the countenance of her hearer. She knew him well enough to be sure that the bolt had gone home, and at heart secretly respected him. In making this statement she had thrown her king of trumps.
“It is very painful for me to be obliged to speak like this, Mr Ames,” she went on, deftly infusing a little less acerbity into her tone, “especially when I think of all you have done for Miss Commerell throughout a time of terrible danger. But as to this, you will certainly not find her people ungrateful; you may take my assurance as to that. Let me see. You have resigned your appointment, have you not? At least, so I have been told.”
She paused. She had thrown her ace.
John Ames, his face white to the lips with this culminating outrage, replied—