Mercy made another effort.
"I entreat your ladyship to pardon me," she resumed. "I have something
serious to say. I am afraid--"
"I understand. You are afraid of crossing the Channel, and you don't
like to acknowledge it. Pooh! The passage barely lasts two hours; we
will shut ourselves up in a private cabin. I will send at once--the
courier may be engaged. Ring the bell."
"Lady Janet, I must submit to my hard lot. I cannot hope to associate
myself again with any future plans of yours--"
"What! you are afraid of our 'Bohemian life' in Paris? Observe this,
Grace! If there is one thing I hate more than another, it is 'an old
head on young shoulders.' I say no more. Ring the bell."
"This cannot go on, Lady Janet! No words can say how unworthy I feel of
your kindness, how ashamed I am--"
"Upon my honor, my dear, I agree with you. You _ought_ to be ashamed, at
your age, of making me get up to ring the bell."
Her obstinacy was immovable; she attempted to rise from the couch. But
one choice was left to Mercy. She anticipated Lady Janet, and rang the
bell.
The man-servant came in. He had his little letter-tray in his hand, with
a card on it, and a sheet of paper beside the card, which looked like an
open letter.
"You know where my courier lives when he is in London?' asked Lady
Janet.
"Yes, my lady."
"Send one of the grooms to him on horseback; I am in a hurry. The
courier is to come here without fail to-morrow morning--in time for the
tidal train to Paris. You understand?"
"Yes, my lady."
"What have you got there? Anything for me?"
"For Miss Roseberry, my lady."
As he answered, the man handed the card and the open letter to Mercy.
"The lady is waiting in the morning-room, miss. She wished me to say she
has time to spare, and she will wait for you if you are not ready yet."
Having delivered his message in those terms, he withdrew.
Mercy read the name on the card. The matron had arrived! She looked at
the letter next. It appeared to be a printed circular, with some lines
in pencil added on the empty page. Printed lines and written lines
swam before her eyes. She felt, rather than saw, Lady Janet's attention
steadily and suspiciously fixed on her. With the matron's arrival the
foredoomed end of the flimsy false pretenses and the cruel delays had
come.
"A friend of yours, my dear?"
"Yes, Lady Janet."
"Am I acquainted with her?"
"I think not, Lady Janet."
"You appear to be agitated. Does your visitor bring bad news? Is there
anything that I can do for you?"