CHAPTER XLVI.
A LAST DECISION.
Rosalind’s insolent face went red with wrath.
“I don’t know who ‘Thompson’ is or whether it’s a man or a woman,” she said threateningly, “but it will be a bad night’s business for both of you, if either he or she tries anything of that sort. I’ve some friends within call, and if I can’t take care of myself without them, I’ve only to call, to get all the help I need.”
Berry looked the unutterable disgust she felt, and she involuntarily drew back a step from her unwelcome visitor. Fortunately for all concerned, however, Thompson—who was one of the under footmen—was in another part of the house at the time and did not, therefore, put in an appearance in response to her ladyship’s request.
Rosalind waited for a moment in expectation of hostilities of a more formidable character than the mere resentment of an indignant gentlewoman, and, finding that none were likely to come, stuck her cigarette between her lips again and blew out a long writhing plume of smoke.
“I reckon that ‘Thompson’ knows when he’s well off, and has made himself scarce,” she said with a laugh and a wave of one very much bejeweled hand. “And as there’s no way for you to get into the house unless I choose to step aside and let you, I also reckon you’ve got to stand and face the music whether you like it or not. Turn about’s fair play the world over. You tried to shut me out of Crumplesea, and now I’m shutting you in—in your own veranda.”
“What do you want of me, that you have had the impudence to come here and to play me such a trick as you have done?” asked Berry, with cool scorn. “No! don’t come any nearer; keep your distance, please; you are quite too close for comfort as it is.”
“Oh! you want to know what I’ve come for, do you? Well, you shall—and in short order, too! Yes, and you’ll dance to a more expensive tune than I first intended for treating me like this. Ten thousand would have bought me off when first I came, but it’ll cost you fifty thousand now, I promise you.”
“There’s a mistake on your part—it won’t cost me a penny. If you have any idea of blackmailing me because you are—well, what you are, get that idea out of your mind at once. That my stepbrother married a creature who was—and apparently still is—scarcely a fit associate for one of my scullery maids and that I disowned him for it, are matters that are known to every one who knows me, and I should scarcely be likely to pay you money to keep secret a thing that is public property.”
“Oh! that’s the ‘tack’ you’re going on, is it? Well, suppose I start in telling something that everybody doesn’t know—not even you yourself—what then? Look here, my Lady High and Mighty, you snuffed me out as a wife and widow, but you can’t snuff me out as a mother—the mother of your brother’s daughter, a child born in honorable wedlock nearly eighteen years ago.”