“I think you must be mad, and I know you are disgusting,” Ivy rather panted, looking at Emmeline with horror-widened eyes, and moving to go.
But Emmeline caught at her wrist with vise-like thin fingers; and short of making a scene in Emma’s drawing-room, where already a few other guests were trickling in, there was no escape. So she sat down again. You must humor lunatics; she had always heard that. Well—she hoped she’d not meet another lunatic soon.
“Answer me! You shall! Do you care for King-lo?”
“I like Mr. Sên—as I think every one does,” Ivy said coldly.
“Only that?”
Ivy bent her head, with a look of contempt straight into Emmeline’s eyes.
“Oh—he is perfect!” Emmeline bleated. “Will you give him back to me?”
“I cannot give what is not mine. And I will not listen to any more insult—not if I have to appeal to my cousin.”
“Is he coming here today?” Emmeline pleaded abjectly, a sudden change in tone and manner. Dr. Ray would have read it apprehensively; but Ivy was merely blankly amazed.
“I do not know,” she answered truthfully.