“Shall I put her out of the room and lock the door, Mrs. Laurens? I’ll do it if you say the word.”
Molly looked sorely tempted to say yes, but she turned again to Louise.
“Will you go away and leave me in peace? I do not want to have any trouble with you, Louise,” she said, pleadingly.
“I will not go until I get ready. You ought to know me better, Molly, than to oppose me like this. You know, of old, that I always have my own way.”
“Yes, you have always done so—to my despair and destruction,” Molly groaned, bitterly, but Louise gave an incredulous laugh.
“I had nothing to do with your marrying Cecil Laurens,” she observed, dryly.
“You made it impossible for me to decline doing so without putting your interest in jeopardy,” Molly retorted.
“I think I told you I would not discuss private matters before your maid, Molly. Are you ready to send her away?”
“Since I can not get rid of you without—yes,” cried Molly, petulantly, overruled as she had always been by the other’s despotic will.
“You may retire a few moments, Phebe; but remain within call,” she said to the maid, who went out reluctantly, and with a resentful toss of her head toward Miss Barry.