“Call on her!”
“It would be more diplomatic.”
“Do you imagine, Madge, that I am going to make advances to that woman? She used to snub me once; my turn has come. I give the Murchisons just six months in Roxton.”
How little mercy Betty Steel had in that intolerant and subtle heart of hers was betrayed by the strategic move that opened the renewal of hostilities. She had driven Kate Murchison out of Roxton once, and the arrogance of conquest was as fierce in this slim, refined-faced woman as in any Alexander. She moved in a small and limited sphere, but the aggressive spirit was none the less inevitable in its lust to overthrow. The motives were the meaner for their comparative minuteness.
Lady Sophia’s Bazaar Committee met in Roxton public hall one day towards the end of May, to consider the arrangement of stalls, and to settle a number of decorative details. Betty had spent half the morning at her escritoire sorting letters, meditating chin on hand, scribbling on the backs of old envelopes, which she afterwards took care to burn.
She seemed in her happiest vein that afternoon, as she left Madge Ellison to provide tea for Dr. Little, and drove to the public hall with her despatch-box full of the Bazaar Fund’s correspondence. No one would have imagined it possible for such refinement and charm to cover instincts that were not unallied to the instincts found in an Indian jungle. Mrs. Betty went through her business with briskness and precision; the committee left their chairs to discuss the grouping of the stalls about the room. There were to be twelve of these booths, each to represent a familiar flower; Lady Sophia had elected herself a rose. Mrs. Betty’s choice had been Oriental poppies.
Lady Sophia was parading the hall with a pair of pince-nez perched on the bridge of her nose, and a memorandum-book open in her hand. A group of deferential ladies followed her like hens about the farmer’s wife at feeding-time. The most trivial suggestion that fell from those aristocratic lips was seized upon and swallowed with relish.
“Betty, dear, have you heard from Jennings about the draperies?”
The glory of it, to be “my deared” in public by Lady Sophia Gillingham!
“Yes, I have a letter somewhere, and a list of prices.”