Dorothy said nothing: she knew that it was true, and they walked a few steps in silence.
“Dorothy, do you know what generally happens to favourites and sultanas?”
“No.”
“They come to a bad end; the other ladies of the harem murder them, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be frightened; I don’t mean that we should murder my dear sister. What I do mean is, that I think we might manage to depose her. Will you help me if I find a plan?”
Dorothy’s better self had had time to assert itself by now; the influence of the blow was over, and their natures were wide apart again.
“No, certainly not,” she answered. “Ernest has a right to choose for himself, and if your sister gets the better of us, it is the fortune of war, that is all—though certainly the fight is not quite fair,” she added, as she thought of Eva’s radiant loveliness.
Florence glanced at her contemptuously.
“You have no spirit,” she said.