"My good child, don't be melodramatic! I only wanted to tell you that—that I am sorry I was rude to you the day you left——"
"Rude, were you? I had quite forgotten it. Now go!"
"No, thanks. I will sit down for a moment. Brigit, you are a very foolish woman. Hush, I will tell you why. Firstly, because you are going to marry the son of that musical mountebank; and secondly, because you seem bound to make an enemy of me."
"Threats?"
She stood looking down at him with a smile as disagreeable, though not as evil, as his own. "Don't you be melodramatic! And please go. If you don't, I'll ring for Amélie."
"I don't mind."
And she knew that he did not. She, on the other hand did, for she had always disliked and distrusted the Frenchwoman. "If you prefer one of the men?"
"They won't hear you; men-servants never do. And, besides, I'm going in a minute. Listen, Brigit; you have, during the past year, done everything you could to hurt me. Do you think it's fair, all things considered?"
"Fair or unfair, your—attentions annoy me."
"Well—your attitude annoys me, and unless you change it, I'll—get even with you. Now, there's plain English for you." He rose. "That's all I wanted to say. Rather pretty, your room."