“I did not understand,” she muttered, confusedly, and she drew a thimble and needle-case out of her pocket. “If you will show me—” she began.
But Philippa by this time had quite recovered her self-possession. Every nerve in her body tingled with proud indignation. Whether wisely or unwisely, she felt that there was but one course possible for her to pursue.
“She shall not dare to think that I am afraid of her,” she said to herself.
And she fixed her eyes undauntedly on Bailey with a gesture of repelling her now offered services.
“No,” she said, icily. “I am much obliged to you, Miss Worthing, but I should much prefer one of the other maids mending my skirt,” and she turned away and walked slowly across the room to where one of the French chamber-maids was standing, looking rather astonished at the little scene, though she had no idea what it was all about. And just for a moment Bailey felt staggered. Could she have made a mistake as to the identity of this young lady and Phillis Ray, the maid, whom she had met and disliked at Wyverston? The very idea frightened her; what would her mistress say to her if “Miss Aline” told of her rudeness? Bailey’s imagination was well stocked with sensational fiction; she had read of extraordinary likenesses, leading to still more extraordinary mistakes. But no, a moment’s reflection satisfied her again. There were other coincidences—here, at Cannes, this girl was figuring as Miss Raynsworth, sister to Mrs Marmaduke Headfort (for Bailey knew all the small talk and gossip of the place already); there, at Wyverston, she had been the same lady’s maid. There was some mystery, some secret, and Bailey’s sensational novels came in handy again, as suggesting reasons and clues by the score. She had not made a mistake.
All this passed through her mind so rapidly that she was quite prepared with an answer when Aline, waiting an instant till Philippa was out of earshot, turned upon her again hotly.
“Bailey,” she said, “I am utterly ashamed of you. I do not know what has come over you, but I warn you I shall tell mamma all about it.”
Somewhat to her surprise, Bailey did not seem impressed by what she said. Aline was in general very mild and gentle, and Bailey was an old servant. Miss Worthing would not have dared to speak so strongly to her, had she not herself for once been really angry, and she was half prepared for something rude in reply. But the maid answered calmly enough:
“Of course, miss, you must tell your mamma what you like. But I shall have something to tell her too—something that will surprise her more than anything you tell her of my behaviour. And I take blame to myself that I have not spoken out before; so particular as your mamma has always been about you.”
“What do you mean, Bailey? Say what you mean, or I will go straight into the ball-room and bring mamma here,” said Aline, beginning to be vaguely frightened as well as angry.