Léonie rose. She was smiling, but her dark eyes were bright with anger. “You do not know? Then me, I will tell you. It is plain to me that mademoiselle Mary has thought that she will become Madame la Marquise, and not her sister. As to that, we shall see. You have said to my sister that you will make one big scandal. Vous pouvez vous éviter de la peine, madame;it is I who will make the scandal. I do not desire that my son should have a liaison with your daughter, for she appears to me to be a young woman not at all comme il faut. I shall go to Paris at once, and I shall bring this clever Mary back to you in good time. And if you are so stupid that you cry aloud that the Marquis my son has carried off your daughter you will look even more foolish than you do now, for it will be seen that I am with M. le Marquis, and I think if I say I was with him all the time people will perhaps believe my word before that of Madame Challoner. Que pensez-vous, madame?”
Mrs. Challoner came to her feet in a hurry, and said loudly: “Ho, ma’am, and is that how it is to be? And do you think my poor deceived girl will have nothing to say to that fine tale? She shall declare her wrongs to the world, for I’ll make her, and I’ll see she is heard!”
Léonie gave a light, scornful laugh. “ Vraiment? It is a story so silly, madame, that I think people will say ‘ quel tas de bêtises!’ and not at all believe you. And me, I shall say only that this Mary forced herself upon my son, and I shall be believed, madame, do not doubt.” She swept a curtsy, ignored Sophia, who was gaping at her in astonishment, and walked out of the room before Mrs. Challoner could collect her scattered wits.
Sophia bounced out of her chair, crying: “There, mamma! That’s all your scheming has led to! Lord, I vow I could die of laughing at you!”
Mrs. Challoner promptly boxed her ears. Sophia began at once to cry, but her mother had gone to the window, and was watching a liveried footman hand her grace into the carriage. She said through her teeth: “I’m not finished yet, Sophy, don’t think it. We’ll see who has the laugh, your grace!” She turned quickly. “I’m going to make a journey,” she said. “You’ll be off to your Uncle Henry’s house, Sophy, till I come back, and see you behave yourself circumspectly!”
In the white house in Curzon Street Lady Fanny was eagerly awaiting Léonie’s return. When her grace came into the boudoir she fairly pounced upon her, a dozen questions tripping off her tongue. Léonie untied the strings of her becoming hat, and threw it on the table. “Bah, quelle viellle guenon!” she said. “I have frightened her a little, and I tell you this, Fanny, I will not have Dominique ally himself with the daughter of such a one. I go at once to France to arrange the matter.”
Lady Fanny regarded her shrewdly. “La, my dear, you’re in such a heat you’d best wait till you’ve cooled a little.”
“I am not in a heat at all,” Léonie said with great precision. “I am of a coolness quite remarkable, and I would like to kill that woman.”
“You’re in a rage, my love, don’t tell me! You’ve forgotten your English, which is a very sure sign, though I can’t conceive why you should become so vastly French as soon as you lose your temper.”
Léonie stalked to the mantelpiece, picked up a vase from it, and quite deliberately smashed it. Lady Fanny shrieked, and cried out: “My precious Sèvres vase!”