“What you ask is impossible; you must see that it is. No one could interfere in—in the way you ask.”
Mrs. Cope’s clutch tightened.
“You won’t, then? You won’t?”
“Certainly not. Let me go, please.”
Mrs. Cope released her with a laugh.
“Oh, go by all means—pray don’t let me detain you! Shall you go and tell Lady Susan Condit that there’s a pair of us—or shall I save you the trouble of enlightening her?”
Lydia stood still in the middle of the path, seeing her antagonist through a mist of terror. Mrs. Cope was still laughing.
“Oh, I’m not spiteful by nature, my dear; but you’re a little more than flesh and blood can stand! It’s impossible, is it? Let you go, indeed! You’re too good to be mixed up in my affairs, are you? Why, you little fool, the first day I laid eyes on you I saw that you and I were both in the same box—that’s the reason I spoke to you.”
She stepped nearer, her smile dilating on Lydia like a lamp through a fog.
“You can take your choice, you know; I always play fair. If you’ll tell I’ll promise not to. Now then, which is it to be?”