"Let me pass!" Carlita commanded again, going a step toward her.
"Never!"
For one dramatic moment the two determined women faced each other, and then began a physical struggle for mastery.
There was not a sound, not a cry until they both tripped over a small embroidered footstool and fell, Carlita's head striking the sharp edge of a table.
Jessica arose at once, panting, flushed, but Carlita lay there, still as death, her face upturned, but expressionless.
With fiendish hatred Jessica looked down upon her, even touched her with the toe of her slipper, but there was no movement to show that it had been felt.
Calmly, deliberately, Jessica regarded herself in the mirror, saw that her gown was in order, then walked to her mother's door, and throwing it open, said with cool distinctness:
"You'd better come into my room for a moment. Carlita tripped over a stool and has hurt herself."