'I am glad you have
come to your senses. But your apology must be offered to Miss Shale--if my
daughter cares to listen to it.'
May had foreseen this. It was the bitterest moment of her ordeal. Flushing
scarlet, she turned towards the younger woman.
'Miss Shale, I beg your pardon for what I said yesterday--I beg you to
forgive my rudeness--my impertinence--'
Her voice would go no further; there came a choking sound. Miss Shale
allowed her eyes to rest triumphantly for an instant on the troubled face
and figure, then remarked to her mother--
'It's really nothing to me, as I told you. I suppose this person may leave
the room now?'
It was fated that May Rockett should go through with her purpose and gain
her end. But fate alone (which meant in this case the subtlest
preponderance of one impulse over another) checked her on the point of a
burst of passion which would have startled Lady Shale and Miss Hilda out of
their cold-blooded complacency. In the silence May's blood gurgled at her
ears, and she tottered with dizziness.
'You may go,' said Lady Shale.
But May could not move. There flashed across her the terrible thought that
perhaps she had humiliated herself for nothing.
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