Madam saw that her last threat had hit the girl hard. She stood inflexibly awaiting a reply.
Olwen threw up her chin, and spoke bravely. "I shall appeal to Mr. Guyse," she said. "I will insist upon his telling you himself that no love-making has passed between us."
"Very good," replied Madam at once. "I, too, think that you should do as you suggest. I will not write to your grandfather until I know what the result of your interview will be. If you could exert yourself so far as to come down to tea in the banqueting-hall, it would save poor ayah some of the running up and down stairs which, during the past few days, has been almost too much for her."
This parting thrust brought the tears smarting to the girl’s eyes.
Madam looked round the room with an appraising gaze, as she moved slowly towards the door. "I don’t think," said she, with a very faint smile, "that you could truly say that you have not been comfortable here."
"Oh—I—you—what am I to say?" burst forth Olwen vehemently. "I was so happy, I was growing to love"—Madam turned swiftly—"to love the old Pele and the wild country, and my life here—and now you have spoilt it all! Nothing can ever be the same again." She grasped the arm of her chair, and leaned her brow upon her hands, almost disappearing beneath the overweight of her tumbling hair.
"Oh, come, things are not so bad as you think," replied Madam, in a different tone. "If you marry Nin you would stay here always."
"Marry him because I have lost my reputation!" cried the girl wildly, lifting her tear-stained face. "You must be mad to think I am that kind of a girl!"
Madam shrugged her thin shoulders. "Well, I shall expect to see you at tea time," she said, and went out.
"Missee fancy chicken for her lunch?" asked Sunia softly.
Olwen shook her head miserably and mopped her eyes with her handkerchief. As the ayah saw the traces of grief, she uttered a pitying little sound and ran forward. Olwen made a brave attempt to speak and to control her weeping.
"Don’t bring me any lunch, please. I have been working you to death, up and down stairs all day at my beck and call. Never mind, I shall be gone in a day or two, and then you can have a rest."
The Hindu took the kettle from the fire, poured out a little water, added violet salts and eau-de-Cologne, and came to her chair.