“Stop!” she cried, in such an imperious voice that Mabin obeyed at once. “I want to speak to you.”
Mabin glanced up at the hard, cold face, and her heart rose in rebellion at the thought that the severe expression was for poor Mrs. Dale. She drew up her head with a flash of spirit, and waited quietly for what the elder lady had to say.
“What is your name? And where do you live?” asked the lady.
At first, guessing that this vixenish woman wanted to communicate with her friends about the desirability of removing her from “The Towers,” Mabin felt inclined to refuse to answer. But a moment’s reflection showed her that it would be easy for the lady to get the information she wanted from the servants; so she said:
“My name is Mabin Rose, and my father is on his way to Geneva.”
“And how did he become acquainted with—” she paused, and added in a peculiar tone, as if the name stuck in her throat—“with Mrs. Dale?”
“They were neighbors,” answered Mabin shortly.
“You had better write to him and ask him to take you away,” said the lady. “There are circumstances——”
But Mabin put her hands up to her ears.
“Not a word!” cried she. “I won’t hear a word. I beg your pardon for having to be so rude, but I won’t listen to you; I won’t hear a word against my friend.”