Why
should Miss Bland wish to torture Angelo's wife, even if she knew
anything? And she could not know. It was impossible that she should
know. But suddenly the girl remembered Marie's hints about a long-ago
flirtation between the cousins. And Idina's manner had been odd when she
begged Angelo to smoke because of old times. A dreadful idea opened a
door in Mary's mind and leered at her, with the wicked eyes of a face
seen in a nightmare, vague, yet growing larger and drawing inevitably
near. She felt helpless and frozen as in a nightmare too; for she could
do nothing to rescue Marie, if need arose. To stop Idina somehow might
be possible, yet surely that would do more harm than good. To show fear
would be to acknowledge cause for fear. Yet at this moment of suspense
Mary would have given her right hand to be cut off, if that could have
saved her friend.
"Our heroine is the last person who ought to be put into a
convent-school," Idina went on, "for she cares more about flirting and
fun and intrigue than anything else. Being shut up with a lot of girls
and religious women bores her dreadfully, and after she's been there for
a while she looks round for a little amusement. The pupils are allowed
to go out sometimes, and she meets a man who's staying in a big
country-house near by. He looks at her, and she looks back at him. That
settles everything. He contrives to find out her name. Men are clever
about such things. Then he begins smuggling letters for the girl into
the convent.
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