"No, that was someone else."
And now Rosalind, blighting her with her icy smile, which no inward fires could melt, said contemplatively:
"I am afraid you are not speaking the truth. I shall tell Mr. Osborne to get rid of you."
The dart was well planted. The paid secretary's lips twitched and quivered.
"Try it! He'll laugh at you!" she retorted.
"No, I think he will do it—to please me!"
Sad to relate, our gracious Rosalind was deliberately adding oil to the fires of hate and rage that she saw devouring Hylda Prout; and when Hylda again spoke it was from a fiery soul that peered out of a ghost's face.
"Will he?—to please you?" she said low, hissingly, leaning forward. "He has a record in a diary of the girls he has kissed, and the number of days from the first sight to the first kiss. He only wanted to see in how few days he could secure you."
This vulgarity astonished its hearer. Rosalind shrank a little; her smile became forced and strained; she could only murmur:
"Oh, you needn't be so bourgeoise."