For once he trusted her; and as Davidina arranged it, so the thing happened. Miss Sparling called; Davidina opened the door, and said, in reply to inquiry, that Mr. Trimblerigg was out. Miss Sparling, not believing her, walked in. Davidina requested her curtly but civilly to walk out again; and when she refused, closed the door and fell upon her.
In the struggle that ensued Miss Sparling was no match for Davidina. Within two minutes her bosom was rifled of its guilty contents, and so far as written documents were concerned Mr. Trimblerigg’s reputation was safe again; that is to say Davidina had it in her keeping.
She explained her course of action quite coolly to the flabbergasted Isabel: ‘You forced my door; I forced your buttons. Now we are equals; you’d better go.’
She opened the door again as she spoke. Eye to eye they looked at each other; then Miss Sparling walked out. And as Davidina watched her depart, she said to herself, ‘I wonder whether she’s going to be the making of him?’
Davidina had got it firmly into her head that it was better to provide Jonathan with enemies than with friends. She saw that popularity might be the ruin of him; it was sisterly partiality which made her think that unpopularity would be a corrective.
In the event Isabel had the making of him in a direction that Davidina could never have dreamed.
When Mr. Trimblerigg came home, creeping in by the back way after dark, Davidina presented him with the letter ending in five crosses, saying that Miss Sparling had left it for him.
‘Have you read it,’ he inquired uncomfortably.
‘No; did you want me to?’ said Davidina in a calculated tone of surprise.
He could not quite credit her with not having read it; but it was a great comfort to pretend she had not read it, and to have the pretence shared.