"Francis ... she knows ... what is she going to do?"
She strung her slim, tall figure to its finest restraint and without a quiver in her voice (her heart was beating wildly), "Good-bye, grandmamma. I promised Roddy to be back."
But the old lady looked at her—
"How you do hate me, my dear," she said almost complacently.
Rachel compelled the other's eyes. "Would I come to see you so often if I did?" she said.
"Yes, my dear, you would. You've got a sense of humour hidden somewhere although, God knows, we've seen little enough of it lately. Oh! yes, you'd come all right—if it were only to see me growing older and older."
Rachel turned flaming. "There, at any rate, you're unjust. It's you that have always hated me from the beginning—since I was small. Hated me, been unjust to me——"
Her body trembled with agitation—she was not far from one of her old tempests of passion.
But the Duchess smiled. "You exaggerate, Rachel, your old fault. At any rate, I'll be gone soon, I suppose—it will seem trivial enough one day...." Then as Rachel, turning to the door, left her—"But hurt a hair of Roddy's head, my dear, and—well, you'll hate me more than ever——"