She indulged in a vigorous illustrative pantomime.
“I shall be all right,” Lydia said quickly—insensibly adopting the most dignified attitude at her command.
She moved to the door.
“Have some supper sent up to your room, do,” urged Miss Forster. “I’m sure Irene would get a tray ready, and I’ll bring it up to you myself. Then you won’t have to come down to the dining-room.”
“Thank you very much, but I’d rather come down.”
Lydia was speaking literal truth, as, with her usual clear-sightedness, she soon began to realize.
Not only was her curiosity undeniably strong, both to behold the recent arrival, and to observe Margoliouth’s behaviour in these new and undoubtedly disconcerting circumstances—but it was slowly borne in upon her that she could not afford to relinquish the opportunity of standing in the lime-light with the attention of her entire audience undeviatingly fixed upon herself.
Her humiliation could be turned into a triumph.
Lydia set her teeth.
She had been very angry with Margoliouth, and was so still—less because he had deceived her than because the discovery of his deceit must destroy all her prestige as the youthful recipient of exclusive attentions. But after all, she could still be the heroine of this boarding-house drama.