Ten minutes later Lady Thompson arrived, and her coming was like to that of a thunderstorm. She shut the door, locked it, and sat down in an armchair in solemn, lurid silence. Then with one swift flash the storm broke.
“What is this I hear from Mr. Russell?”
“I am sure I don’t know what you have heard from Mr. Russell,” answered Barbara faintly.
“Perhaps, but you know very well what there was to hear, you wicked, ungrateful girl.”
“Wicked!” murmured Barbara, “ungrateful!”
“Yes, it is wicked to lead a man on and then reject him as though he were—rubbish. And it is ungrateful to throw away the chances that a kind aunt and Providence put in your way. What have you against him?”
“Nothing at all, I think him very nice.”
Lady Thompson’s brow lightened; if she thought him “very nice” all might yet be well. Perhaps this refusal was nothing but nonsensical modesty. Mr. Russell, being a gentleman, had not told her everything.
“Then I say you shall marry him.”
“And I say, Aunt, that I will not and cannot.”