“I detest maneuvering, it’s utterly unworthy of you. All this juggling with dates and letters——”
“It’s no use doing things by halves,” said Flora stubbornly. “Yes or no, Owen, are you going to back me up if necessary?”
“If I say no, will it deter you from going through with this insane performance?”
“Of course it won’t.” She actually smiled. “What would be the sense of making up one’s mind if it’s to be unmade again just because one’s friends don’t agree with one?”
“Very well.” He shrugged his shoulders as one in desperation.
She evidently accepted it as the assent, however ungracious, that he meant it to be.
“Thank you very much,” said Flora with brief finality.
(iii)
Flora followed Mrs. Carey’s maid upstairs, feeling as though the beating of her heart were causing each breath she drew to crowd thickly upon the next one.
Mrs. Carey’s house—she supposed it was Mrs. Carey’s house—was a very tiny one indeed, and looked tinier by reason of the number of pictures, draperies, and flowers that covered every available corner of the steep staircase and the small landing.