Lady Frances drew a small table towards her, took a note-book and a Letts’s Diary from a bag at her side, and became absorbed in the irritating task of counting up petty expenses. Lady Frances no more looked at Evelyn than if she had not existed. The angry little girl in the bed even ventured to make faces in the direction of the tyrannical lady; but the tyrannical lady saw nothing. Jasper outside the door found it no longer interesting to press her ear to the keyhole. She retired in some trepidation, and presently made herself busy in Evelyn’s boudoir. For half an hour the conflict went on; then, as might be expected, Evelyn gingerly and with intense dislike put one foot out of bed.
Lady Frances saw nothing. She was now murmuring softly to herself. She had long—very long—accounts to add up.
Evelyn drew the foot back again.
“Nasty, horrid, horrid thing!” she said to herself. “She shall not have the victory. But, oh, I am so hungry!” was her next thought; “and she does mean to conquer me. Oh, if only mothery were alive!”
At the thought of her mother Evelyn burst into loud sobs. Surely these would draw pity from that heart of stone! Not at all. Lady Frances went calmly on with her occupation.
Finally, Evelyn did get up. She was not accustomed to dressing herself, and she did so very badly. Lady Frances did not take the slightest notice. In about half an hour the untidy toilet was complete. Evelyn had once more donned her crimson velvet dress.
“I am ready,” she said then, and she came up to Lady Frances’s side.
Lady Frances dropped her pencil, raised her eyes, and fixed them on Evelyn’s face.
“Where do you keep your dresses?” she said.
“I don’t know. Jasper knows.”