“Scenes,” she repeated. “No, indeed. This is merely a conversation. If we were to have a scene”—her dark eyes flashed—“I think I should beat you, and if we were to have a second, I—I should kill you. But we love each other; pray don’t let us have scenes.”
She left her consort to preen his ruffled feathers.
Said Harriet on the night of her arrival at the Manor-house:
“I want to speak to you for a moment, Ursula, where nobody can hear us. Come into my room.”
Ursula followed, wondering.
Harriet stood by her dressing-table in Madame Javardy’s wonderful white cashmere, all embroidery, with silken Edelweiss. She seemed uncertain how to begin.
“Ursula,” she said at last, “I suppose you were very angry with me, weren’t you, for marrying your Uncle Mopius?”
“I?” exclaimed Ursula, in amazement. “No, indeed; why should I—”
Then she reddened, suddenly understanding.