Another Scandal in Bohemia Read Online Free PDF Page B

of dress-making goods. The one at the mirror paused, then initiated action. She moved forward.
    Snap! The crop licked at the charged atmosphere of the little room, it whipped like a long, thin snake-tail towards the red-haired woman, driving her back toward her own reflection.
    “As you were. You may stand,” Irene gave the redhead elaborate permission, “but you may not move.”
    “This is intolerable, Madame,” the viola throbbed indignantly from a sofa.
    “Undoubtedly, but I assure you that it is most satisfying to me. Now.” She resumed pacing, the riding crop striking softly across the palm of one hand.
    One of the seated women whimpered. Irene had proved at least that they were easy to intimidate. And she craved any sort of audience, even—or perhaps especially—a captive one.
    “No, I must admit that my voice, my mind, my face are fair game,” she resumed. “What else are the idle to talk about but other people?” she inquired cuttingly, then stood still. “But you began by insulting my bourgeois flaw of marrying—and marrying so unexceptional a man as an English barrister, although you admit that the wrappings are attractive. You have erred grievously.”
    “Oh?” the woman at the mirror inquired archly. “Does Monsieur Norton wear a toupee?”
    Irene paused to smile sweetly. “I meant that you err in assuming that he is unexceptional. You ladies all suffer from short-sightedness. I, on the other hand, take the long view. It is true that I have few jewels, only those earned by my own work, or given to me by persons grateful for the exercise of any small wit I may possess. This gives me an advantage beyond price, one that may not be immediately evident to such eager acquirers as yourselves. My sorry trinkets may be modest and few, but no sapphire’s sparkle is tainted by memories of the fools or indignities suffered in its pursuit. No diamond necklace’s blue fire is dimmed by the number of the ceilings contemplated in boredom to earn each stone in the endless string. No ruby’s gleam is bought at the cost of self-respect or honesty.
    “As for my marrying, and marrying so modestly, I console myself by regarding the husbands and lovers of women such as yourselves. They leave much to be desired, as you have noted yourselves by observing my husband. I shall never have to embrace some overstuffed sofa of a self-satisfied duke, or kowtow to a prince of industry for the reward of a few costly baubles. I shall never have to contemplate the ceiling—or anything else—in boredom. In truth, I have chosen the better part, which is why I am a subject of such fervid interest to your gossiping circle. I have no pretensions of any sort, which is what offends you. And you are quite right. I am a dangerous sort of woman.
    “Now,” Irene finished grandly, flourishing her borrowed crop like a wand, or a scepter, “You may resume your petty discussions. It will amuse me to overhear what you have to say on my withdrawal. I will even have Miss Huxleigh take notes. Perhaps you will be worth a paragraph in my memoirs.”
    They looked as one toward me for the first time, as I gasped, and scowled horribly. Had Irene and her whip not been present, I do believe that they would have done me some bodily harm. Witnesses are never cherished.
    Only the sounds of whispers and rustling clothing penetrated our dressing room after our return.
    Irene sat on the edge of the Empire sofa in her frilly combinations, looking like a chastened schoolgirl required to sit through a lecture, rather than like someone who had only moments before had wielded the whip hand.
    I was trembling, in shock and—now—with righteous anger.
    “You have caused a scene!” I charged in a hoarse whisper.
    She nodded.
    “You have paraded yourself in your unmentionables.”
    She said nothing.
    “You have... destroyed your so-called opportunity to become Monsieur Worth’s experimental mannequin.”
    She looked meekly up at me with enormous