“I must ask you to pack up your boxes, Miss Cass.” In Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s anger there was a quality of suppressed splendor which made it sublime. Besides, the phrase itself was an unconscious plagiarism from the previous day’s ill-fated masterpiece at the Assembly Rooms: in very similar terms had Sir Toby’s ill-fated heroine received her congé.
But Miss Cass remained unmoved, stoical, cynically indifferent.
“Please have them packed immediately. I will ask Miss Parbury to look out a train to London for you.”
That excellent afterthought came as a final bolt. The incensed lady paused dramatically to mark its effect. Miss Cass did not blench. Unquestionably, such a shaft must have gone right home, but the little governess knew how to conceal the wound.
The whole scene was decidedly humiliating, but after all, it didn’t matter particularly—at any rate, to the Lady Elfreda Catkin. What was going to matter was the triumph of Miss Parbury. A very attractive young soldier would have to be abandoned to the siren of Birmingham.
It was just there that the shoe really began to pinch. A moment’s thought showed Elfreda that in any case the shoe must have pinched just there. That romance had already reached its appointed end. Still, it was a trifle galling to be “sacked” so ignominiously. Miss Parbury would gloat. Yes, it was rather astute of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson to ask that lady to look out a train!
“I’m afraid, Miss Cass”—in the exhilaration of the hour Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson became flutelike once more—“it will be quite impossible to give you a reference. And I shall write at once to Canon Carnaby to say so. I am exceedingly sorry. In regard to your salary, I shall consult my husband. Here are two pounds which will take you to your home.” The magisterial lady produced a brace of reluctant Bradburys. “You may or may not be entitled to a full month. As I say, I must consult my husband.”
There was not the slightest need for Miss Cass to smile. Such a moment should have been really painful, at any rate to a properly constituted mind. But Miss Cass did smile, moreover so scornfully that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson found it hard to veil her fury.
“Please go at once and pack your boxes, Miss Cass. There is a train to London about two, I believe. But Miss Parbury will be able to tell you.”
“Pray don’t give any one trouble on my account.” The tone of Miss Cass had the bite of an acid. “I am reasonably good with a Bradshaw.” The calm effrontery of the creature was astounding.