CHAPTER XX
It is impossible to say what Mariana would have done had there been no interference, for she had worked herself into one of those furies which women of her type can attain when they feel the occasion demands it, a paroxysm none the less dangerous because its foundation is histrionic. But Rameau threw his arms about her; Mr. Percy came hastily to his assistance, and Ward and I sprang in between her and the too-fearless lady she strove to reach. Even at that, the finger-nails of Mariana’s right hand touched the pretty white hat—but only touched it and no more.
Rameau and the little spy managed to get their vociferating burden across the courtyard and into her own door, where she suddenly subsided, disappearing within the passage to her apartment in unexpected silence—indubitably a disappointment to the interested Amedee, to Glouglou, Francois, and the whole personnel of the inn, who hastened to group themselves about the door in attentive attitudes.
“In heaven’s name,” gasped Miss Elizabeth, seizing her cousin by the arm, “come into the pavilion. Here’s the whole world looking at us!”
“Professor Keredec—” Mrs. Harman began, resisting, and turning to the professor appealingly.
“Oh, let him come too!” said Miss Elizabeth desperately. “Nothing could be worse than this!”
She led the way back to the pavilion, and, refusing to consider a proposal on the part of Mr. Ingle and myself to remain outside, entered the room last, herself, producing an effect of “shooing” the rest of us in; closed the door with surprising force, relapsed in a chair, and burst into tears.
“Not a soul at Quesnay,” sobbed the mortified chatelaine—“not one but will know this before dinner! They’ll hear the whole thing within two hours.”