“I can’t,” said Grace in a low voice; “I’ve no right to.”
“Hush! here comes a perfect old harpy for news, I know by her pinched-up nose, and the way she sets her lorgnette. Hold your tongue, Miss Strange,—beg your pardon, but it’s a desperate case,—till she gets away. Yes, as I was saying, these orchids are surely the rarest specimens I’ve ever seen.”
The “old harpy” drew near, and levelled her glances behind her lorgnette at Grace. It was the lady who had asked Bella to introduce her young friend.
“Are you ill, Miss”—she hesitated, and then laughed unpleasantly, “Tupper—or—Strange?” she asked sweetly, and drawing near till she stood over the two.
Charley Swan surveyed her coolly as Grace stammered out something.
“Thanks,” he drawled. “Miss Strange was faint; but as she is a great friend of our family and came with us, I believe I can take care of her. Anything I can do for you, Miss—” he hesitated, just as she had done, looking her squarely in the face; so that, without supplying the name, she murmured something about the beauty of the flowers, and moved off.
“Are you ill, Miss Tupper—or—Strange?” and she laughed unpleasantly.
“Old reptile,” said Charley between his teeth.
“Oh, don’t!” protested Grace, with a little shiver; “she’s right. She sees I’m a humbug.”