“I find the species improving,” she said.
While they had been idling along the path, a bold stroke had occurred to Elinor and she now determined to put it into action. Gently, but firmly, she had turned her companion’s footsteps toward the boat landing. As they took the lower walk, she said:
“Is Edward coming back to Palm Beach?”
“I know nothing of Edward or his movements,” replied the other sharply.
“And you don’t miss him?”
“Miss him, indeed! Lazy, piano-playing fellow! It was his music I could forgive least of all. It has been a curse in my family. I am old and bent from the misery it has brought me.”
“But suppose he could do other things besides play? Couldn’t you forgive him then?”
“No, no,” answered Mrs. Paxton-Steele. “I am tired of hearing his name. Never speak to me of Edward again. You are a presuming, impudent young upstart.”
“And you,” exclaimed Elinor, flushing scarlet, “and you, Mrs. Paxton-Steele, are a cruel, vain old woman. You think you are wise and you are only stupid. Because it is stupid to be a bully. You are crushing all the soul and spirit out of Edward and Georgiana until, instead of loving you, they—they hate you,” she ended, stamping her foot on the gravel path.
“What? What?” screamed the old woman, choking with rage.