“Then where in the name of good saints are you going to be?” Mistletoe went on.
“Why,” said Elaine, slowly (and here she looked very slyly at the old Governess, and then quickly appeared to be considering the lace on her dress), “why, of course, papa would not permit me to sacrifice myself for one dragon or twenty dragons.”
“What!” screamed Mistletoe, all in a flurry (for she was a fool). “What?”
“Of course, I know papa would say that,” said Miss Elaine, demure as possible.
“Oh, mercy me!” squeaked Mistletoe; “we are undone!”
“To be sure, I might agree with papa,” said the artful thing, knowing well enough she was on the right track.
“Oo—oo!” went the Governess, burying her nose in the household cookery-book and rocking from side to side.
“But then I might not agree with papa, you know. I might think,—might think——” Miss Elaine stopped at what she might think, for really she hadn’t the slightest idea what to say next.
“You have no right to think,—no right at all!” burst out Mistletoe. “And you sha’n’t be allowed to think. I’ll tell Sir Godfrey at once, and he’ll forbid you. Oh, dear! oh, dear! just before Christmas Eve, too! The only night in the year! She has no time to change her mind; and she’ll be eaten up if she goes, I know she will. What villain told you of this, child? Let me know, and he shall be punished at once.”
“I shall not tell you that,” said Elaine.