Disdaining a reply to the coarse woman, Vera drags herself up from the hard floor, and with stiffened limbs takes her way to the luxurious apartment of her cousin.
How different this large and comfortable room from Vera's bare and fireless little den. Miss Cleveland's apartment has soft hangings of pale-blue plush, bordered with silver, cream lace curtains, a blue satin counterpane embroidered with silvery water-lilies. The atmosphere is warm and dreamy, and languid with the scent of hot-house flowers in blue and silver vases. The mistress of all this elegance stands in the center of the room, clothed in an esthetic gown of pale-blue, embroidered down the front with small sunflowers. She is a pretty blonde, with straw-colored hair in loose waves, and turquoise blue eyes, that usually wear an expression of infantine appeal and innocence. Just now the eyes look heavy and dull, and there is a tired, impatient look on her delicate-featured face.
"Here you are at last," she says, as Vera comes slowly in with her white face and heavy eyes, with their look of dumb and hopeless pain. "Hurry up now and undress me; I'm tired and sleepy, and ready to drop!"
Vera stands still, looking gravely at her, and making no move to obey the cool and insolent mandate. For years her cousin has ruthlessly trampled her under foot, and made her a despised slave.
It comes to the girl with a sudden thrill of triumph now that this is the last time Ivy will ever order her about. She is Leslie Noble's wife, and he will shield her from her cousin's abuse.
"Come, don't stand staring like a fool," Ivy breaks out coarsely and impatiently. "Don't you see I'm waiting? Here, pull off these tight slippers. I cannot stand them a minute longer!"
She throws herself into a blue-cushioned chair, and thrusts forward her small feet encased in white kid slippers and blue silk hose, and Vera, conquering her strong impulse of rebellion, kneels down to perform the menial service.
After all, what does this last time matter? she asks herself, wearily. After to-morrow she will be out of their power. Tonight, while that dear, dead mother lies in the house, she will keep still, she will have peace, no matter how bitter the cup of degradation pressed to her loathing lips.
With steady hands she unlaces the silken cords that lace the white slippers, draws them off the compressed feet, and unclasps the satin garters from the blue silken hose. All the while Ivy raves angrily:
"I have seen for some time that you rebel against waiting on me, ungrateful minx, as if all you could do would repay us for the charity that has clothed and fed you all your life. To-morrow I shall report you to your mother, and if she does not bring you into better subjection, you shall both be driven away, do you hear?"