Jane departed, and Violet felt as if she had a friend and protector the less. She was sitting forlorn in the great drawing-room, waiting for Arthur, who was trying horses; presently Theodora came in, and with something of compassion, said, ‘I hope you have an entertaining book there.’
Oh yes, thank you, “La Vie de Philippe Auguste”. I like it very much; it is as amusing as “Philip Augustus” itself.’
‘James’s novel, you mean?’
‘Have you read it?’
‘His novels are exactly alike,’ said Theodora, leaving the room, but checked by the thought that it would be merciful to take her into her room. ‘No, nonsense,’ said second thoughts; ‘I shall have nothing but chatter ever after, if I establish her coming to me when Arthur is out; and if this cottage scheme comes to pass, she will be marching up whenever she has nothing better to do. Give an inch, and she will take an ell.’
She was interrupted by a diffident, hesitating call, and, looking back, as she was mounting the stairs, beheld Violet, who changed the appellation into ‘Miss Martindale.’
‘Well!’ said she, feeling as if her citadel were in jeopardy.
‘Would you—would you be so very kind as to lend me a French dictionary?’
‘Certainly; I’ll give you one in a moment,’ said Theodora; with so little encouragement as would have deterred a person bent on gaining the entree. Violet stood meekly waiting till she brought the book, and received it with gratitude disproportionate to the favour conferred.