Twittered poor Girlie again—“Do tell me, please, what I ought to do!”
“Do!” The scorn was cold drawn, barbaric. “Why, go back at once and make him propose to you. And”—the eyes were like those of Medusa—“don’t let me see or hear from you again until he has done so.”
XX
Girlie could only gasp. Elfreda’s speech in its frigid nonchalance was stupefying. More fully than ever did she realize that she was in the toils of an Evil Genius. This girl, this amazing girl, had a will of iron. She was growing positively afraid of her.
It was all very well for Lady Elfreda Catkin to issue an ukase, but it was not she who would have to foot the bill. She was a person of importance, she had powerful friends, her position was secure. No matter how deep and angry the waters, no matter how menacing the sky, she belonged to the class that was able to weather the most violent storms. But for the Girlie Casses of the planet it was a very different matter. What for the one might be nothing more than a new and original, if rather perilous, form of entertainment, for the other might mean the end of all things.
Girlie’s mind was a chaos as her scared eyes met the implacable ones that were fixed on hers. General damnation was their only portent. She knew she was done for, anyway. It was but a question of putting off the evil day. But if she bolted now she would at least save herself from being publicly found out, whereas if she waited for the inevitable exposure there was no saying what might happen to her.
“Oh, but I daren’t let him propose—I simply daren’t.”
Elfreda harshly told her not to be foolish.
“But—-!” Girlie knew only too well that her wriggles were miserably inadequate. And in the midst of them yet another complication presented itself. She remembered that there might be two Richmonds in the field. Signs had not been wanting that the little baronet also was inclined to view her with a favorable eye. Certain cadences of his voice lingered in her ears even now. There seemed but one thing to do. As one seeking the aid of a strength beyond her own she confessed to Elfreda that Sir Toby Philpot also might be on the verge of a proposal.
To this admission Elfreda did not immediately reply. But with that pitiless glance that had the power of striking far below the surface of things, she looked at the Deputy. Was this the kind of little idiot who believes that every man who smiles as he opens a door is in love with her, or was it literally true that at Clavering Park she was un succès fou? Elfreda continued to analyze her mercilessly. Yes, in her way, she was undoubtedly a pretty little thing. And the half-scared manner and the timid voice made her rather a plaintive, rather a pathetic little thing, so that after all it would not be so very remarkable if she made a strong appeal to the male. At the same time, the idea of her playing such havoc was ludicrous and, from Elfreda’s own private standpoint, more than a little humiliating.