“Doubtless, since I sing to her ladyship every day.”
“What an appreciative listener you must have in that old, crooked back,” sneered Isabel.
Brownie’s eyes blazed, dangerously.
“I presume Sir Charles Randal would be much edified with Miss Coolidge’s remark regarding his aged aunt,” she said.
Isabel looked frightened for a minute, then replied, with a short laugh:
“He might be, if he should hear it, that’s a fact. Then you’re her companion. I remember now hearing that she took a sudden shine to a young woman who met with an accident, and would have her stay with her. You’re mighty lucky about getting into fine places, it seems to me.”
A curl of those beautiful red lips was all the satisfaction she received from this insulting speech, and then Brownie made as if she would have passed on.
“Wait,” commanded Isabel, peremptorily, and laying her hand upon the young girl’s shoulder.
She was inwardly boiling with rage that she could not move or browbeat the haughty governess.
“Wait,” she repeated; “I have not done with you yet.”