“I wish to know,” Wilhelmina said, “who your companion was—with whom you had dinner and supper. I look upon that person as being responsible for your lost train.”
Letty prayed that she might sink into the ground. Her worst imaginings had not been so bad as this. She remained silent, tongue-tied.
“I’m waiting,” Wilhelmina said mercilessly. “I suppose it is obvious enough, but I wish to hear from your own lips.”
“I—he—I don’t think that he would like me to tell you, ma’am,” she faltered.
Wilhelmina smiled—unpleasantly.
“Probably not,” she answered. “That, however, is beside the question. I wish to know.”
The girl was desperate. It was indeed a quandary with her. To offend the mistress of Thorpe was something like sacrilege, but she knew very well what Stephen would have had her do.
“If you please, ma’am,” she said at last, “I can’t.”
Wilhelmina said nothing for a moment, only her eyebrows were slowly lifted.
“If you do not,” she said, calmly, “I must write to your mother and tell her what I think of your behaviour last night. I do not care to have people near me who are disobedient, or—foolish.”