Mrs. Baron afterward confessed to members of her family that for the first time in her life she felt completely helpless. She was, in truth, a somewhat childish person in many ways, and she was not accustomed to any unpleasantnesses save those which she created for others.
At any rate, she swallowed with difficulty—and surrendered. “It’s a very small point, after all,” she said ungraciously. “Go into my room. Flora will look after you.” She spoke coldly, all her interest seemingly withdrawn.
And just as the guest disappeared into Mrs. Baron’s sitting-room, Flora came almost stealthily up the stairs.
“I wish you’d put that little limb of Satan to bed,” she said. Flora saw that her mother’s hand, on the balustrade, trembled.
“Where shall I put her?” she inquired.
“Anywhere! just so you get her covered up for the night.”
Flora paused, her eyes uneasily seeking her mother’s.
“I’m afraid you’re angry with me, mother,” she said humbly.
“With you? Certainly not.”
Flora was puzzled. Her mother had long ago declared that Mr. Addis must not be accepted as a visitor. Did she know that he had just gone? She was about to enter her mother’s sitting-room when something prompted her to turn.