and Mrs. Fyne. He turned
briskly to the girl. Mrs. Fyne confessed to me that they had remained
all three silent and inanimate. He turned to the girl: "What's this
game, Florrie? You had better give it up. If you expect me to run all
over London looking for you every time you happen to have a tiff with
your auntie and cousins you are mistaken. I can't afford it."
Tiff--was the sort of definition to take one's breath away, having regard
to the fact that both the word convict and the word pauper had been used
a moment before Flora de Barral ran away from the quarrel about the lace
trimmings. Yes, these very words! So at least the girl had told Mrs.
Fyne the evening before. The word tiff in connection with her tale had a
peculiar savour, a paralysing effect. Nobody made a sound. The relative
of de Barral proceeded uninterrupted to a display of magnanimity. "Auntie
told me to tell you she's sorry--there! And Amelia (the romping sister)
shan't worry you again. I'll see to that. You ought to be satisfied.
Remember your position."
Emboldened by the utter stillness pervading the room he addressed himself
to Mrs.
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