The Italian at once laid her hands upon the block of wood and struggled to raise it; but Gladys had no difficulty in keeping the bar immoveable.
“What are you doing?” cried the younger girl indignantly. “Take your arm away!”
“She must tell us first who put her where she is,” reiterated Miss Romer. “I won’t have her let out ’till she tells us that!”
Phyllis looked piteously from one to the other. Then she grew desperate.
“It was Luke Andersen,” she whispered.
“What!” cried Gladys. “Luke? Then he’s been out walking with you? Has he? Has he? Has he?”
She repeated these words with such concentrated fury that Phyllis began to cry. But the shock of this information gave Lacrima her chance. Using all her strength she lifted the heavy bar and released the prisoner. Phyllis staggered to her feet and picked up her bundle. Lacrima handed the girl her hat and helped her to brush the dust from her clothes.
“So you are Luke’s latest fancy are you?” Gladys said scowling fiercely at the glove-maker.
The pent-up feelings of the young woman broke forth at once. Moving a step or two away from them and glancing at a group of farm-men who were crossing the green, she gave full scope to her revenge.
“I’m only Annie Bristow’s friend,” she retorted. “Annie Bristow is going to marry Luke. They are right down mad on one another.”