"You are very good again.
I said the women were of no use."
"Yes, Lady Janet."
"I mean to place a man-servant on guard at every entrance to the house.
I am going to do it at once.
Will you come with me?"
"Can I be of any use if I go with your ladyship?"
"You can't be of the slightest use.
I give the orders in this house—not you. I had quite another motive in asking you to come with me.
I am more considerate of you than you seem to think—I don't like leaving you here by yourself.
Do you understand?
"I am much obliged to your ladyship.
I don't mind being left here by myself."
"You don't mind?
I never heard of such heroism in my life—out of a novel!
Suppose that crazy wretch should find her way in here?"
"She would not frighten me this time as she frightened me before."
"Not too fast, my young lady!
Suppose—Good heavens! now I think of it, there is the conservatory.
Suppose she should be hidden in there?
Julian is searching the grounds.
Who is to search the conservatory?"
"With your ladyship's permission, I will search the conservatory."
"You!!!"
"With your ladyship's permission."
"I can hardly believe my own ears!
Well, 'Live and learn' is an old proverb.
I thought I knew your character.
This is a change!"
"You forget, Lady Janet (if I may venture to say so), that the circumstances are changed.
She took me by surprise on the last occasion; I am prepared for her now."
"Do you really feel as coolly as you speak?"
"Yes, Lady Janet."
"Have your own way, then.
I shall do one thing, however, in case of your having overestimated your own courage.
I shall place one of the men in the library.
You will only have to ring for him if anything happens.
He will give the alarm—and I shall act accordingly.
I have my plan," said her Ladyship, comfortably conscious of the card in her pocket.
"Don't look as if you wanted to know what it is.
I have no intention of saying anything about it—except that it will do.
Once more, and for the last time—do you stay here? or do you go with me?"
"I stay here."
She respectfully opened the library door for Lady Janet's departure as she made that reply.
Throughout the interview she had been carefully and coldly deferential; she had not once lifted her eyes to Lady Janet's face.
The conviction in her that a few hours more would, in all probability, see her dismissed from the house, had of necessity fettered every word that she spoke—had morally separated her already from the injured mistress whose love she had won in disguise.
Utterly incapable of attributing the change in her young companion to the true motive, Lady Janet left the room to summon her domestic garrison, thoroughly puzzled and (as a necessary consequence of that condition) thoroughly displeased.
Still holding the library door in her hand, Mercy stood watching with a heavy heart the progress of her benefactress down the length of the room on the way to the front hall beyond.
She had honestly loved and respected the warm-hearted, quick-tempered old lady.
A sharp pang of pain wrung her as she thought of the time when even the chance utterance of her name would become an unpardonable offense in Lady Janet's house.