“Because of—you. I don't know what he would say. I don't know what he would do.”
“To me?” said Betty.
“It would be sure to be something unreasonable and wicked,” said Lady Anstruthers. “It would, Betty.”
“I wonder what it would be?” Betty said musingly.
“He has told lies for years to keep you all from me. If he came now, he would know that he had been found out. He would say that I had told you things. He would be furious because you have seen what there is to see. He would know that you could not help but realise that the money he made me ask for had not been spent on the estate. He,—Betty, he would try to force you to go away.”
“I wonder what he would do?” Betty said again musingly. She felt interested, not afraid.
“It would be something cunning,” Rosy protested. “It would be something no one could expect. He might be so rude that you could not remain in the room with him, or he might be quite polite, and pretend he was rather glad to see you. If he was only frightfully rude we should be safer, because that would not be an unexpected thing, but if he was polite, it would be because he was arranging something hideous, which you could not defend yourself against.”
“Can you tell me,” said Betty quite slowly, because, as she looked down at the carpet, she was thinking very hard, “the kind of unexpected thing he has done to you?” Lifting her eyes, she saw that a troubled flush was creeping over Lady Anstruthers' face.
“There—have been—so many queer things,” she faltered. Then Betty knew there was some special thing she was afraid to talk about, and that if she desired to obtain illuminating information it would be well to go into the matter.
“Try,” she said, “to remember some particular incident.”