“Gal,” said Joe, turning to her a Job’s comforter, “one thing is sure. You are going to lose your place.”
Harriet bit her lip, coldly disdaining a reply.
“As sure as eggs that’ll be the upshot,” proceeded Joe. “I’m sorry I let that jockey go without giving him a bit of my mind.”
“He is not to blame,” said Harriet tensely.
“Who is, then?”
“You and me, Joe,” sobbed Eliza, “for letting her go on the stage.”
“There was no stopping her—you know that well enough. As soon as she took up her dancing we lost all control of her. But we’ve got to be pretty sensible now. A nice tangle things are in, and they’ll take a bit of straightening out.”
Harriet shook a mournful head.
“What can people like ourselves possibly do?” she asked.
“I’ve a great mind,” said Joe, “to step as far as Bridport House and have a few words with his Grace.”