“Oh, don’t be missish, Ju!” said his lordship, with an impatient frown. “I left her in your care.”
“Well, and what if you did? I can’t be for ever with her. She wouldn’t have me, I’ll be bound.”
Vidal looked at her rather sharply. “Oh? Have you quarrelled?”
“Pray do not imagine everyone to be like yourself and for ever being in a quarrel!” besought Miss Marling. “If people are only kind to me I’m sure I am the last person to quarrel with anyone.”
His lordship sat down on the edge of the bed. “Now come along, my girl: out with it!” he said. “What has happened between you?”
“Nothing at all!” snapped Juliana. “Though I’ve little doubt Mary thinks me as odious as she thinks you — not that I care a fig for what she or anyone else thinks.”
“I’ll shake you in a minute,” threatened the Marquis. “What’s between you two?”
Miss Marling raised herself on her elbow. “I won’t be bullied by you, Vidal, so pray don’t think it! I think men are the most hateful, cruel wretches imaginable, and I wish you would go away and find your provoking Mary yourself.”
There was a distinct break in her voice, and Vidal, who had a soft corner for her, put his arms round her, and said with unwonted cajolery: “Don’t cry, child. What’s to do?”
Miss Marling’s rigidity left her. She buried her face in Vidal’s blue coat, and said in muffled accents: “I want to go home! Everything is horrid in Paris, and I hope to heaven I never come here again!”