“Arthur and I agree that the sort of—of feeling you speak of may be awakened—later.”
“You sit there and tell me you have calmly discussed that? I suppose you told him that you had a sisterly regard for him. And then he said that he’d warm you up—later! Heavens! Why did he send you chocs? What you want is ginger.”
“Say what you like.”
“I shall. What you have done is indecent. There’s a woman in your family, a first cousin, whom you never mention. But I happen to know all about her. She ran away from her husband, who was a brute, with an actor; she bolted afterwards from the actor because he made a fool of himself with his leading lady; and she didn’t bolt alone. I have infinitely more respect for her than you. What an engagement! Two babes in the topiary garden, fatly gurgling, dreaming that the Voice that breathed o’er Eden will bless ’em, devoutly praying that love will awaken ’em. Take it from me that love is too busy to waste his time upon such blighters.”
Tossing her curls, stamping her foot, the daughter of the twentieth century glared at the daughter of the eighteenth.
Then, once more, she cooled herself at the window.
Cicely moistened her lips with a feverish tongue. Anger had engendered anger. She was tempted to say, with frigid dignity: “That will do. Please go.”
One consideration restrained her. Tiddy was fond of her. She might have abused friendship, strained it to breaking-point, but no girl would have spoken with such fierce vehemence unless she had been tremendously moved. To part from such a friend would be terrible.
Having reached this conclusion, Cicely became again a dual personality. Before, when this curious experience befell her, she had been conscious of an uplifting. From altruistic heights she had surveyed her world. Complacency had fallen, like refreshing dew, upon her. It was quite otherwise now. The new Cicely beheld with Tiddy’s eyes the old Cicely. The new Cicely challenged the old Cicely to mortal combat. The new Cicely said savagely: “Tiddy is right—a marriage of convenience is indecent.”
But the old Cicely was not to be vanquished easily. Tiddy heard her friend’s voice, still querulous: