"That she, a school-girl--a brainless fool--should dare to put such an insult on me," raged Mrs. Veilsturm, clenching her fan tightly. "How dare she? How dare she? Does she know what I am?"
"She does," replied the Major drily, "her letter shows she does."
Maraquita looked from left to right in wrathful despair, then throwing all prudence to the wind, snapped her fan in two, threw it on the ground, and stamped on the fragments.
"I wish she was there! I wish she was there! What can I do to punish her? What can I do?"
"You can do nothing," replied Griff, examining his nails. "To make war on Lady Errington would be like throwing feathers at a granite image in order to hurt it. She has an assured position in Society. You have not. She has a past that will bear looking into--you have not. She has everything in her favour--you have nothing, so be a philosopher, my dear Maraquita. Grin and bear it. Vulgar certainly, but sound advice, very sound advice."
Mrs. Veilsturm turned on her dear friend in a fury, and stamped her foot on the broken fan, looking like a demon with her blazing eyes and clenched white teeth, which showed viciously through her drawn lips.
"Hold your tongue," she shrieked wrathfully, "don't stand sneering there you fool. Tell me what I'm to do."
The Major poured out another glass of sherry from the decanter on the table and advanced towards her.
"Have a glass of sherry, and keep your temper," he said soothingly.
Cleopatra glared at him in speechless anger, then struck the glass from his hand with such violence that it shattered to pieces on the carpet. Griff shrugged his shoulders, and walked back to the fireplace.