“She goes to Ramsgate on Monday to my Aunt Enticknapp.”
“Ah,” said Mrs Millet. “Quite satisfactory, I suppose?”
“Perfectly. I heard this morning. I feared she might not have room because of those Bahia girls, you know.”
“Exactly,” replied Mrs Millet. “Quite desirable, I suppose?”
“Quite. Susan, you can go upstairs now. It’s nearly tea-time. Clear those things away, and shut the door softly.”
Deeply disappointed, for she felt she had been on the very edge of hearing something about Aunt Enticknapp, Susan slowly put her beads into the box, and advanced to say good-bye to the visitor.
“Good-bye, darling,” said Mrs Millet, kissing her caressingly. “Why, you are a lucky little girl to be going to the sea-side.”
Her manner was always affectionate, but her voice never sounded kind to Susan, and these words did not make half the impression of Maria’s “Por little thing.”
That remark still lingered in Susan’s mind, and as she climbed slowly upstairs to the top of the house, she thought to herself that the only chance now of speaking to Mother was when she came up to see her after she was in bed. That was sometimes very late indeed, often when Susan was fast asleep, and knew nothing about it.
“But to-night,” she said to herself, “I will keep awake. I’ll pinch myself directly I feel the least bit sleepy;” for the mystery surrounding Aunt Enticknapp’s house had deepened. Susan had now to wonder what sort of things Bahia girls were, and why she kept them at Ramsgate.