“To think Lily should have told him that!” she exclaimed, passionately. “I wish he had not come here.”
“You don’t wish so any more than I,” chimed in a voice, which sounded much like that of Lilian Veille.
She knew that Mildred was offended, and, seeing her go up the stairs, she had followed her, to make peace, if possible, for Lilian, while occasionally transgressing, was constantly asking forgiveness.
“I’m always doing something silly,” she said; “and then you did tell Clubs you didn’t like Lawrence.”
“It is not that,” sobbed Mildred. “Finn says you told him I loved somebody.”
“The hateful nigger!” exclaimed Lilian. “What business had he to listen and then to blab? If there’s anything I hate it’s a tattler!”
“Then why don’t you quit it yourself?” asked Mildred, jerking away from the hand which was trying to smooth the braid of thirty strands.
“What an awful temper you have got, Milly!” said Lilian, seating herself very composedly by the window, and looking out upon the lawn. “I should suppose you’d try to control it this hot day. I’m almost melted now.”
And thus showing how little she really cared for her foolish thoughtlessness, Lilian fanned herself complacently, wondering why Mildred should feel so badly if Lawrence did know.
“Gipsy,” called the Judge from the lower hall, “supper is on the table. Come down.”