"I know that," replied Patience sharply. "But I don't mean that anyone else shall know that; I've got my pride—more than most folk. Who's Alice, if it comes to that, that she should be taken about, and drive in her carriage—and all that? If they took one girl—didn't I take the other; me that they looked on as a servant? I'll soon show 'em."
"You wouldn't show what wasn't true, dear?" whispered Moira.
"Yes—I would," was the surprising answer, "and not think twice about it. Who's to know?"
"I wouldn't do it," said Moira. "You'll only be sorry afterwards."
"Shall I? You don't know me," she retorted. "My pride'll keep me from ever being sorry. Now for it!"
Moira leaned her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her clasped hands, and watched. A slight flush of excitement had grown in the white face of Patience; her lips were set in grim determination as she poised the pen, and waited before setting down in black and white what was in her mind. It seemed difficult of expression; after a moment she raised her eyes hopelessly to the girl. "I don't know how to begin," she muttered, with a glance at the door, as though fearful of being overheard.
"I thought you'd find it difficult," was the reply. "Why not say at once that we drive every morning until luncheon; pay calls in the afternoon; are never to be found at home in the evening? If you want imagination——Why, what are you writing?"
The pen was jerking rapidly over the paper, and Patience was saying the words aloud as she wrote. "Dear Madam,—I have been meaning to write to you for a long time—but London life takes up so much of my time—and Moira—'is it one "r," Moira?'—is always out and about—when not with me, then with some young companion." She glanced up half shyly at Moira, who was watching.
"Can't you spell 'companion'?" asked Moira demurely.
"Of course I can," explained Patience. "My in-vest-ments having turned out better than I hoped, we are finding this house almost too large for us, but should not like to change. I do not think that we could go back to the country now; we seem to want more life than we used to have, especially now after my re-tire-ment. I am afraid sometimes"—she raised her eyes again to the face of the girl, and then lowered them—"afraid sometimes that the life is almost too gay for Moira; but then she is young, and——"