“Secrets, lady Ann!” exclaimed Barbara. “Your ladyship forgets herself!”
Lady Ann looked up with a languid stare in the fresh young face, rosy with anger.
“Was I not in the act,” pursued the girl, “of telling you all about it? You dare accuse me of such a thing! I only wish you would carry that tale of me to my mother!”
“I am not accustomed to be addressed in this style, Barbara!” drawled lady Ann, without either raising or quickening her voice.
“Then it is time you began, if you are accustomed to speak to girls as you have just spoken to me! I am not accustomed to be told that I have a secret with any man—or woman either! I don't know which I should like worse! I have no secrets. I hate them.”
“Compose yourself, my child. You need not be afraid of me!” said lady Ann. “I am not your enemy.”
She thought Barbara's anger came from fear, for she regarded herself as a formidable person. But for victory she rested mainly on her imperturbability.
“Look me in the face, lady Ann, and tell yourself whether I am afraid of you!” answered Barbara, the very soul of indignation flashing in her eyes. “I fear no enemy.”
Lady Ann found she had a new sort of creature to deal with.
“That I am your friend, you will not doubt when I tell you it was I who let you in last night! I did not wish your absence or the hour of your return to be known. My visitors must not be remarked upon by my servants!”