“How I hate her!” Mamie said to herself, when Constance was gone.
“What a hateful, spiteful little thing she is!” thought Constance as she stepped into the boat.
CHAPTER XIX.
George was not altogether pleased by what had happened during the visit. He had expected that Constance would be satisfied with exchanging a few words of no import, and that she would make no attempt to lead him into conversation. Instead of this, however, she had seemed to be doing her best to make him talk, and had really been the one to begin the trouble which had ensued. If she had not allowed herself to refer in the most direct manner to the past, she would not have exposed herself to Mamie’s subsequent attack. As for Mamie, though she had successfully affected a look of perfect innocence, and had spoken in the gentlest and most friendly tone of voice, there was no denying the fact that her speeches had made a visible impression upon Constance Fearing. The latter had done her best to control her anger, but she had not succeeded in hiding it altogether. It was impossible not to make a comparison between the two girls, and, on the whole, the comparison was in Mamie’s favour, so far as self-possession and coolness were concerned.
“You were rather hard on Miss Fearing yesterday,” George said on the following morning, when they were alone during the quarter of an hour he allowed to elapse between breakfast and going to work.
“Hard on her? What do you mean?” asked Mamie with well-feigned surprise.
“Why—I mean when you suggested that I should put you both into a book together. Oh, I know what you are going to say. You meant nothing by it, you had not thought of what you were going to say, you would not have said anything disagreeable for the world. Nevertheless you said it, and in the calmest way, and it did just what you expected of it—it hurt her.”
“Well—do you mind?” Mamie inquired, with amazing frankness.
“Yes. You made her think that I had been talking to you about her.”
“And what harm is there in that? You did talk about her a little a few days ago—on a certain evening. And, moreover, Master George, though you are a great man and a very good sort of man, and a dear, altogether, besides possessing the supreme advantage of being my cousin, you cannot prevent me from hating your beloved Constance Fearing nor from hurting her as much as I possibly can whenever we meet—especially if she sits down beside you and makes soft eyes at you, and tries to get you back!”