“Do you like any one else, Owen, come?”
“I like the parson, and the schoolmaster, and Tom Hogben.”
“Well, well, well!” throwing herself back, “I see you won’t give me your confidence! I am positively certain there is some one in Ottinge you like much better than the parson and the schoolmaster—or even Miss Susan.”
“I swear there is not,” he answered, boldly confronting her. (Aurea was not in Ottinge, but visiting her rich London relatives, doing a bit of the season with, to borrow the native term, “Mrs. General Morven.”)
Leila was puzzled. Owen, she knew, was a hopelessly bad liar, and his face looked innocence itself.
“I’ve got a box for the theatre here—a company on tour. We may as well go—you can sit in the back,” she said, rising.
“All right; it’s to be hoped none of the Ottinge folk will be there, and spot me!”
“Not they! Don’t you know your Ottinge by this time? Is it likely that any one of them would come all this way to see a mere play?”
“Miss Susan might, she loves an outing and any little bit of amusement; but she’s not at home, and if she was, she would not get the use of the motor.”
“The theatre is only across the square—it’s quite near, so we may as well walk;” and they did. Lady Kesters in a high black dress, her brother in a dark suit, passed unnoticed among the crowd, and enjoyed the entertainment.