Thus Mrs. Veale, justly outraged.  But Loveday, infatuated, rushed upon her fate—­the fate of expulsion from those precincts.

“Oh, ma’am, ’tis no manner of use to me unless I get work before the Flora.  The Flora, ma’am” (repeating the beloved name as an invocation in time of trouble).

“’Tis this way, I must get a white satin sash come Flora Day, ’cause if I do I’m to dance along with Miss Le Pettit in the procession.  She’s promised me that I should, and indeed I’ll die if I don’t.  I will indeed.  I’ve fixed my soul on it.  I’ve got the gown and the stockings and the shoes, and all I want is the white riband, and I must someways make enough money to buy it come Flora Day.  Oh, Mrs. Veale, ma’am, if you’ll let me scrub and scour for you I’ll do it on my knees so as only I can dance with her in the Flora.”

During this speech Mrs. Veale had risen to the full height and width of the black silk, feeling that thus only could she cope adequately with such a flood of ill-regulated and unseemly passions.  She felt deeply wounded to think that any girl of her teaching should so betray it as this one did in every undisciplined word.  She had not felt such a bitter stab of disappointment since a trusted and loved old nurse of the family had been found drinking the Vicar’s port.

“Loveday Strick,” she said, “you are forgetting yourself.”

This was not exact, for Loveday had forgotten Mrs. Veale, but the rebuke drenched the impetuous girl like a cold wave.  She stood defenceless.

“I have not comprehended half this mad tale of yours,” continued Mrs. Veale, “but I gather you have the presumption to say that Miss Le Pettit—­Miss Le Pettit—­has said you may dance with her at the Flora.  Perhaps a young lady in her exalted position, and of what I believe are her modernising tendencies, may have formed such a project, but you should have known better than to have presumed on such an unsuitable condescension.  As to a white satin sash, I can imagine nothing more unfitted for a girl in your unfortunate position, of which I am very sorry to be obliged to remind you.  I had always hoped you would never forget it.”

“Ma’am ... you don’t understand ...” began Loveday.

“That is quite enough, Loveday.  Let me hear no more on the subject.  If you still want work, apart from this desire for unsuitable finery, since you are my god-daughter I will forget what has passed and still try you at the spring cleaning.”

Then it was that a horrid thing happened to Loveday.

“What do I care for you and your spring-cleaning?” she stormed, “you and it can go up the chimney together for all I care.  I only wanted you to give me work so as to get my satin sash, and I’ll never come near you or church again as long as I do live.  That I won’t....”  And Loveday turned and ran out of the front door, beneath the grinning fox, and not only ran out of the front door, but banged it behind her.