Miss Ransome received the reproach, made with every evidence of a wounded feeling tending towards hysterics, in unwonted silence. She did not feel inclined to caress Felicity, and for once she might follow a natural bent, since clearly nothing was to be gained by endearments. She was thinking that though Felicity had repudiated the idea of any likeness existing between herself and her brother, there was—though he was far the more delicate artist of the two—a certain resemblance between their attitude as “Chuckers Out.” There was a hurt disappointment at not receiving an answering burst of affection in return for her output of fond reproach in Lady Bletchley’s tone when she resumed—
“As to the lists, there is no hurry; for though you will not be actually in the house, you will be able to help me almost as much as if you were. You will not be far off.”
“I do not quite know where I shall be.” A moment later, in uncomplaining after-thought—“If you could spare me for an hour this afternoon, I might inquire about lodgings; they would be better for me than an hotel, don’t you think—and—cheaper?”
At this suggestion a hot flush overspread Felicity’s fagged face.
“Lodgings! a hotel!” she repeated. “I do not know what you are talking about. Is it possible that you suppose I am going to plant you on the pavement, because I am most reluctantly compelled to abridge your visit? Would that be like me?”
The extreme out-of-countenanceness—if such a clumsy word may be framed—of her patroness, and a consciousness of how well-founded in sound reason was her own removal from Lord Bletchley’s hearth-stone before his return to it, produced a half-magnanimous, half-malicious pity in Bonnybell, and gave her back her priceless gift of feigning.
“Because you have been incomparably good to me for many weeks gives me no claim upon you for further kindness.” Such un-upbraiding acquiescence in unmerited chastisement spoke in tone and words that Felicity’s rejoinder came chokingly.
“There is no question of kindness; between people who love each other there can be no question of kindness; but come”—pulling herself together—“we must not let ourselves be silly, and make mountains out of molehills; we shall still be able to see a great deal of each other. It is not more than five minutes’ walk from the Slammers’ house here.”
“The Slammers?”
“Yes; how stupid of me!”—hurrying on. “I forgot that I had not explained to you that I have arranged with Mrs. Slammer for you to pay her a good long visit.”