To her intense surprise, Mariposa listened to her with a flushed and frowning face of indignation.
“I won’t go,” she said, with sudden violence.
“But, my dear!” expostulated Mrs. Willers, “your whole future depends on it. With such an influence to back you as that, your fortune’s made. And listen to me, honey, for I know,—it’s not an easy job for a woman to get on who’s alone and as good-looking as you are.”
“I won’t go,” repeated Mariposa, angry and obstinate.
“But why not, for goodness’ sake?”—in blank amaze. “What’s come over you? Is it your mourning? You know your mother’s the last person who’d want you to sit indoors, moping like a snail in a shell, when your future was waiting for you outside the door.”
Her promise rose up before Mariposa’s mental vision and checked the angry reiteration that was on her lips. She turned away, suddenly, tremulous and pale.
“Don’t talk about it any more,” she answered, “but I can’t go now. Perhaps later on, but not now—I can’t go now.”
Mrs. Willers shrugged her shoulders, and was wisely silent. Mariposa’s grief was making her unreasonable, that was all. To Shackleton she merely said that the girl was too ill and overwrought to see any one just yet. As soon as she was herself again Mrs. Willers would bring her to The Trumpet office for the interview that was to be the opening of the new era.
CHAPTER IX
HOW COULD HE
“Man is the hunter; woman is his game,