Coming out into the main street, the Crump stanhope passed her, with Christian on the box, but she was very busy doing sums inside her purse, and people who didn’t know her thought she must be either blind or stupid to ignore the compliment of so gallant a salute. Apparently she had seen nothing; yet she knew that at Christian’s side had sat a dark girl in trim black, and a wave of fierce feeling swept over her—for the woman in question was Slinker’s wife.
She was at Crump, now—Deb knew that. Mrs. Lyndesay had sent for her, acknowledged her—more, insisted on keeping her! As Slinker’s wife she had taken her place in the County; as Slinker’s wife she drove at his brother’s side; while the girl he had wooed in such arrant deceit walked stubbornly alone, with a high head and eyes that looked singularly straight in front of her.
When they came back again, Slinker’s wife had the reins, and pulled up cleverly in the crowded street close to where Deb’s passage was obstructed by a wood-cart. Christian, swinging quickly down, caught her as she looked round for means of escape.
“You cut me!” he said reproachfully, taking her hand in spite of her. “I don’t deserve it, and you know I don’t. You might at least have had the decency to stop and ask after the puppy.”
“I’ll wire for the latest bulletin,” she responded, moving away instantly in a distinctly uncomplimentary fashion. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I’m chasing a scrubbing-brush.” But Christian detained her.
“I want you to do something for me,” he said hurriedly,—“oh, please! It’s just this”—his voice was uneven and embarrassed—“Nettie—Miss Stone—er—that is—Slinker’s wife, you know—wants to know if you’ll be kind enough to know her. He—she—I give you my word, she’s an awfully good sort—that is to say—you won’t regret it!”
Deb stopped short enough now, regarding him incredulously.
“You wish to introduce me to—to that woman?” she asked, her voice very low. “You ask me to speak to her—in this crowd——?”
Christian cast a glance of easy indifference round him. “These don’t count, dear old things! She’s my horse-dealer, as I thought. I’ve known her all my life. I wish you would—don’t you think——?” He saw Deb’s face, then, and stopped.
“Oh, how dare you!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking in spite of her. “How dare you even think of it? You must know that you insult me by the very suggestion!”