Bessie for some moments said nothing; she only looked displeased. “No; there’s no danger,” she at last answered with a certain dryness.
“Then I should like to frighten them!” cried her sister, clasping jewelled hands.
“To frighten whom?”
“All these people. Lord Lambeth’s family and friends.”
The girl wondered. “How should you frighten them?”
“It wouldn’t be I—it would be you. It would frighten them to suppose you holding in thrall his lordship’s young affections.”
Our young lady, her clear eyes still overshadowed by her dark brows, continued to examine it. “Why should that frighten them?”
Mrs. Westgate winged her shaft with a smile before launching it. “Because they think you’re not good enough. You’re a charming girl, beautiful and amiable, intelligent and clever, and as bien-élevée as it is possible to be; but you’re not a fit match for Lord Lambeth.”
Bessie showed again a coldness. “Where do you get such extraordinary ideas? You’ve said some such odd things lately. My dear Kitty, where do you collect them?”
But Kitty, unabashed, held to her idea. “Yes, it would put them on pins and needles, and it wouldn’t hurt you. Mr. Beaumont’s already most uneasy. I could soon see that.”