“I know it is,” said Rosamund desperately. “But I only want to say one thing, Cousin Frederick——”
“Then don’t say it in here. Come into some other part of the house.”
Rosamund followed the exasperated Frederick into the hall, where he made a sound expressive of disgust on seeing Miss Blandflower, wearing a large pair of yellow wash-leather gloves, arranging flowers. Rosamund, however, was not even aware of the governess’s presence.
“Frances is breaking her heart. She thinks that she is meant to be a nun and that she ought not to wait indefinitely. Will you give her leave to go? I don’t believe she’ll stay there long——”
“I’ve told her already that I’m not in a position to give or refuse leave. She’s no daughter of mine.”
“It will satisfy her conscience if you will just say that she has your consent,” urged Rosamund.
Minnie, listening hard in the background, muttered frantically: “Conscience in truth makes cowards of us all; and how she can even speak of such a thing!”
“She can have my consent for what it’s worth,” said Frederick Tregaskis. “But she must fight it out for herself with your Cousin Bertha.”
“That’s the worst of it——”
“Of course it’s the worst of it! And the sooner she puts an end to it the better. This house is like a—shambles,” said Frederick in tones which convinced Miss Blandflower, who did not know what the word meant, that a shambles must be some recondite form of impropriety. She became very red and uttered a shocked and protesting titter, which had the effect of drawing Frederick’s eye upon her for a searing moment before he again retreated to the impregnable study.