And having got to the top, she staggered past him into his room, and dropped into the basket-chair, and for a minute or two did nothing but gasp.
But how difficult she found him. Jocelyn, whose reactions were always violent, behaved very differently from the way his mother at that moment was behaving, placed in the same situation of being asked forgiveness by a Moulsford. Instead of forgiving, of being, as Laura had pictured, so much delighted at the prospect of soon having Sally restored to him that he didn’t mind anything, he appeared to mind very much, and quarrelled with her. She, accustomed to have everything she did that was perhaps a little wrong condoned and overlooked by all classes except her own, was astonished. Here she was, doing a thing she had never done before, begging a young man to forgive her, and he wouldn’t. On the contrary, he rated her. Rated her! Her, Laura Moulsford. She knew that much is forgiven those above by those below, and had frequently deplored the practice as one that has sometimes held up progress, but now that the opposite was being done to herself she didn’t like it at all.
‘Oh, what a nasty disposition you’ve got!’ she cried at last, when Jocelyn had been telling her for ten impassioned minutes, leaning against the chimney-piece and glowering down at her with eyes flashing with indignation, what he thought of her. ‘I’m glad now, instead of sorry, for what I did. At least Sally has had two days less of you.’
‘If you’re going to rag me as well——’ began Jocelyn, taking a quick step forward as if to seize and shake this fat little incredibly officious stranger,—so like him, his mother would have said, to waste time being furious instead of at once making her take him to Sally.
But Laura, unacquainted with his ways, was astonished.
Then he pulled himself up. ‘It’s not you I’m cursing really at all,’ he said. ‘It’s myself.’
‘Well, I don’t mind that,’ said Laura, smiling.
‘I’ve got the beastliest temper,’ said Jocelyn.
‘So I see,’ said Laura.
‘Do you think,’ he asked, for in spite of his anger he was all soft and bruised underneath after his two days of fear, and when the fat stranger smiled there was something very motherly about her, ‘I shall ever get over it?’