“Because they’re true! Because there is no answer!” Fifi fairly screamed. “You think you’re a power! Because you’re tall and statuesque and stunning! You know if those men can’t keep you out of the court-room at least you are safe in the hands of any judge or jury, because they are men! You know if you smile at them—pathetically—if you cast those wonderful eyes of yours at them, they’ll grovel at your feet! I know you, Eunice Embury! You’re banking on your femininity to save you from your just fate.”
“You judge me by yourself, Fifi. You are a power among men, most women are, but I do not bank on that—”
“Not alone! You bank on the fact that either Hendricks or Elliott would go through hell for you, and count it an easy journey. You rest easy in the knowledge that those two men can do just about anything they set their minds to—”
“Will you go?”
“Yes, I will go. And when Mr. Shane comes to see me again, I will tell him the truth—all the truth about the’ Hamlet’ play—and—it will be enough!”
“Tell him!” Eunice’s eyes blazed now. “Tell him the truth—and add to it whatever lies your clever brain can invent! Do your worst Fifi Desternay; I am not afraid of you!”
“I am going, Eunice.” Fifi moved slowly toward the door. “I shall tell the truth, but I shall add no lies—that will not be necessary!”
She disappeared, and Eunice stood, panting with excitement and indignation.
Aunt Abby came toward her. The old lady had been a witness of the whole scene—had, indeed, tried several times to utter a word of pacification, but neither of the women had so much as noticed her.
“Go away, Auntie, please,” said Eunice. “I can’t talk to you. I’m expecting Mason at any time now, and I want to get calmed down a little.”