“Mademoiselle would only be angry,” she said; “it would be as much as my place is worth to even mention you to her.”
“But my errand can brook no delay,” urged Daisy. “You do not realize,” she gasped, brokenly, while her delicate frame was shaken with sobs, and the hot tears fell like rain down her face.
“All that you say is useless,” cried the girl, impatiently, as she purposely obstructed the passage-way, holding the doorknob in her hand; “all your speech is in vain––she will not see you, I say––I will not take her your message.”
“Then I will go to her myself,” cried Daisy, in desperate determination.
“What’s the matter, Marie?” cried a shrill voice from the head of the rose-lighted stairway; “what in the world keeps you down there so long? Come here instantly.”
Daisy knew too well the handsome, impatient face and the imperious, commanding voice.
“Miss Hurlhurst,” she called out, piteously, “I must see you for a few minutes. I shall die if you refuse me. My errand is one of almost life and death; if you knew how vitally important it was you would not refuse me,” she panted.
Pluma Hurlhurst laughed a little hard laugh that had no music in it.
“What would a hundred lives or deaths matter to me?” she said, contemptuously. “I would not listen to you ten minutes to-night if I actually knew it was to save your life,” cried the haughty beauty, stamping her slippered foot impatiently.