“What shall I do?” thought Vivienne; “hospitality says, Get a cup of tea for your guest. Prudence says, You had better not try, lest you fail. However, I will; she shall have some if I make it myself,” and excusing herself, she got up and quietly went out through the hall to the back drawing room.
Mrs. Colonibel sat a little removed from the fire beside a tiny, prettily equipped tea-table. Two ladies only, Vivienne was thankful to see, were in the room—genuine Canadian women, looking rosy and comfortable in their winter furs. Vivienne went up to the table and stood in quiet gracefulness. “Mrs. Colonibel, will you give me a cup of tea?”
“Yes, indeed,” said the lady, with alacrity; “won’t you have some cake too?”
“Thank you,” murmured Vivienne, and with a quiet bow she proceeded carefully through the hall.
“What a charming girl,” she heard one of the ladies exclaim; “is she staying with you?”
“Yes,” returned Mrs. Colonibel; “she is a poor young girl whom Mr. Armour has educated. She won’t be here long, I fancy. For various reasons we are obliged to keep her in the background.”
Vivienne stopped for an instant. “For various reasons,” she repeated angrily. Then with an effort she became calm and went on to be saluted by Mrs. Macartney with the remark that she was a jewel.
Vivienne watched the Irish lady gratefully drinking her tea, then she helped her on with her wraps and saw her depart.
Mrs. Colonibel had yet to have her brush with Vivienne, and the opportunity came at the dinner table. She seized the moment when the three men were engaged in a political discussion, and leaning over, said in a low voice: “Who was that fat, vulgar looking woman that was calling on you this afternoon?”
Vivienne held up her head and looked her well in the eyes. “Oh, you mean the lady for whom I got the tea; Mrs. Macartney is her name.”