The Curved Blade

“Oh, auntie, don’t! I didn’t mean…” “You didn’t mean to exasperate me beyond endurance? No, of course you meant to stop short of that! But you have done it. I mean this, Pauline: tomorrow you go elsewhere to live. No longer will I give a home to such a monster of ingratitude!” “But, Miss Carrington” and Anita’s soft voice implored gently, “don’t be hasty. Pauline didn’t mean…” “What!” and Lucy turned on her, “you take her part? Then you go, too! I want no ingrates here. Leave me, both of you. This night is your last beneath this roof! You are two unworthy girls, to scorn and slight the hand that has fed and clothed you and given you luxury and comfort such as you will never see again! Go, I’ve done with you! Send me Estelle. She, at least, has some small affection for me.” The two girls left the room. The scene was not without precedent. Before this they had been ordered to leave the house forever, but always forgiveness and reinstatement had followed. This time, however, Lady Lucy had been rather more in earnest, and the girls looked at each other uncertainly as they turned toward their rooms. Anita summoned Estelle, the French maid, and then told her to hasten immediately to Miss Carrington. “Don’t undress me,” said the mistress as the maid appeared; “I’m not retiring at once. Get me out of this gown and give me a negligée and slippers.” “Yes, mademoiselle,” and Estelle deftly obeyed orders and brought a white boudoir gown edged with swans-down. “Not that!” cried Lucy. “Bring the gold-embroidered one, the Oriental.” “Ah, the green one, from Monsieur Carrington?” “Yes, the one my nephew sent me at Christmas time. My, but it’s handsome, isn’t it, Estelle?” “Gorgeous!” declared the maid, and she spoke truly. Carr knew his aunt’s taste, and he had sent her a typical Egyptian robe, of pale green silk, heavy with gold embroideries. In it Lucy looked like one attired for a masquerade. “Shall I take down mademoiselle’s hair?” asked Estelle, lingering. “No. I want to be alone. I will read awhile. You need not return. I will do for myself.” “There is your glass of milk, mademoiselle, on the bed-table.” “Silly! I suppose I can see it for myself.” “Yes, ma’am. And you will have your tea at eight in the morning?” “Of course, my tea at eight. As always. You might remember that much yourself. But nobody remembers things for my comfort.” “Pardon, but sometimes it is eight, and, again, it must be half-past.” “Eight! Now, will you go? You are most exasperating! Why do you stand there like a gibbering idiot?” “The jewels, mademoiselle; the pearls? Shall I not put them in safety?” “No! I will put them in the safe myself. Where is the key?” “There, mademoiselle, on your dresser. But if I might…” “You mayn’t do anything except to get out and stay out! Do you hear? Shall I never be obeyed?” “Yes, mademoiselle; good-night.” The soft tone was fully belied by the evil glare of the French girl’s eyes, but it was not seen by Lucy.