Part 10 (1/2)
”Naturally! Who wouldn't be? A muslin gown, this morning! If you'd an ounce of sense, you'd go upstairs and change it at once.”
Grizel's face fell, like that of a small disappointed child. She s.h.i.+vered, and her nose looked redder than ever.
”I was hinting,” she sighed softly, ”for a fire.”
”I _know_ that, my dear, perfectly well, but you are not going to get it.”
”If you were a kind, polite hostess--”
”No, I shouldn't, because in an hour's time the rain will stop, and the room would be close and stuffy all day. Besides, we are going out. If you will be quiet for ten minutes, I shall have finished these books, and we'll go out shopping. So you'll _have_ to change.”
Grizel stared, a glimmer of interest struggling with dismay.
”What are you going to buy?”
”Vegetables for dinner, and bacon, and pay the books.”
”You expect me to walk out in a torrent for _that! I_ won't go. I won't change my frock either. I'll go to bed.”
There was not the least note of offence in Grizel's voice. It preserved its deep note of good-nature, but it sounded obstinate, and her little face was fierce in its militance. Katrine, unabashed, went on checking off figures.
”Nonsense. It will do you good. Rain is good for the complexion. Your face looks tartan, and your nose is red.”
”I like it red,” said Grizel serenely. She sat another moment nursing her cold hands. ”And I won't buy cabbages either,” she added defiantly.
”It's no use trying to brace me, for I won't _be_ braced. I'll go upstairs, and complain to Martin.”
That threat roused Katrine to whole-hearted attention. She shut the little red book--the butcher's book, this time, swept it and its companions into a neat pile, and sprang to her feet.
”You'll do nothing of the sort. _n.o.body_ interrupts Martin when he is at work. We are forbidden even to knock at the door for anything short of a fire or an earthquake. It might spoil his work for the whole morning.”
Grizel stared at her thoughtfully.
”That reminds me,” she soliloquised slowly. ”I _promised_ to help him, and it's four whole days, and I've never been near! It's my duty to go at once, and I'll tell him my brain can't work unless I'm warm. We'll light a fire and roast, while you swim home with the cabbage. Why on earth didn't I think of that before?”
She smiled into her hostess's face with an easy a.s.surance which brought a spark into the dark blue eyes. Katrine was honestly trying not to be angry. Before now she had had experience of Grizel in a perverse mood, and knew that it was not by force that one could move her from her purpose. She adopted an air of resignation, and approached the bell.
”Very well, then, you shall have your fire, and you can read comfortably beside it, or write letters, while I'm away. And I'll tell Mary to bring you a cup of chocolate. You are a spoiled baby, Grizel; when you've taken it into your head to do a thing, one might as well give in first as last.”
”Yes,” agreed Grizel calmly. ”I'm going to Martin.”
She rose in her turn and strolled towards the door, while Katrine stood helpless, her hand on the bell.
”Grizel!”
”Yes.”
”Don't go!”
There was a look on her face, a tone in her voice, which arrested Grizel's attention. Half-way across the room she paused, and studied her hostess with those eyes which looked so lazy, but which saw so uncommonly well. There was dread as well as annoyance on Katrine's face.
”What will happen if I do? What is it you are afraid of?”