“Fudge, Eliza, don’t go back on me like that. You used to be my friend,—have you forsaken me entirely?”
“If you’ve forsaken your aunt,—not unless. Leave this girl instantly and go home with me, and there’ll be no question of ‘forsaking.’”
“Forsake Miss Everett! Not while this machine is to me! Go home yourself, Eliza; be a tattletale, if you want to, but get out of here!”
Bates became furious because of a malevolent gleam in Miss Gurney’s eye as she looked at Dorcas.
“I’ll go, Richard,—and I shall not only tell your aunt what I have seen, but I shall feel it my duty to acquaint Mrs Everett with the facts.”
“Don’t you dare!” cried Dorcas, springing up, and facing the unpleasant faced one with uncontrollable indignation. “What I do, I tell my mother myself,—I don’t have the news carried to her by her enemy’s spy!”
“Hoity-toity, miss, you’re a chip off the old block, I see!”
“And you’re a trustworthy soul, to be talking to me when you’re forbidden to do so!”
The triumph in Dorcas’ tone was quite as galling to Eliza Gurney as her own chagrin at having broken her word. But, once in the moil, she saw no reason for backing out, and proceeded to pick an open quarrel.
“I can explain my speech with you to Miss Prall’s satisfaction,” she went on, acidly, “and I’ll inform you, Miss Everett, that you’ve spoiled Mr. Bates’ life by this clandestine affair of yours. I happen to know that his uncle, Sir Herbert Binney, was just about to make him his heir, but he will change his mind when he hears of this escapade.”