“They are not so bad; it is his poetry that I cannot endure—so sickeningly sweet, it makes me feel positively squeamish! Sometimes he brings it to meals and reads it between the courses, and says, ‘Lizzie and Eva, you must really hear this, it is delicious.’”
“What lunacy!” cried Ronnie. “It seems to me you would be just as well off in an asylum for idiots.”
“By no means,” I objected; “the professor is as dull as a wet Sunday, but Lizzie is immensely clever, a thorough musician, speaks French like a native, and has no end of certificates. She was governess in the family of a Russian Grand Duke before she went to Torrington. Besides, I am really fond of her; I think she finds Uncle Sep trying at times, and after he has read me a play she will say, ‘Now don’t pretend you liked it, Eva—speak the truth. Tell him it is just wordy rubbish! I implore you not to encourage him; as long as he writes letters and poetry for the Slacklands Post it is all right, but the plays burn a hole in his pocket.’ He is really not a bad old boy—rather simple and weak, in spite of his fierce eyebrows—anyone, even a child, can lead him by flattery.”
“I wish I saw my way to leading you out of this hole,” said Ronnie; “my visit has been a shocker; if they would only have you at Torrington—but I suppose that as long as those girls are unmarried you will be what I may call ‘reserved.’”
“I have no wish to go to Torrington,” I replied. “Beke may be dull, but here I don’t live in fear and trembling of anyone. I wonder why Aunt Mina, who detests me, is so friendly to you?”
“I think I can answer that,” rejoined Ronnie. “I am a Lingard—quite the family type—ears and all. I am self-supporting, I have four hundred a year, I have done pretty well for myself so far, and I am in a crack regiment. Also I can shoot and dance, make myself useful in a house party, and do not—like my pretty sister—extinguish the girls or fascinate Bev—quite the contrary, so far as he is concerned; moreover, should anything happen to that long-necked young pup, I am the next heir. When I told Aunt Mina I was coming here she was inclined to be apologetic, and said she was so sorry that Torrington did not agree with you, and that she had settled you at Beke solely on account of your health and education, as they had found you extraordinarily young and unformed for your age. Tell me, Sis, how do you put in your time when you are not doing lessons?”
“Oh, I dust the china, practise, go for long walks with Kipper, poke round the village among my friends, and play tennis with the Soadys, who sometimes give me a mount. On wet days I help Clarice to clean the silver, and besides all this I read a lot. I’ve unearthed no end of old books in a closet, some horribly musty, and printed with those long S’s. I’ve just been devouring a fearsome tale, called ‘Sir Lancelot Graves’—it’s all about a ghost in armour.”
“Oh, bother ghosts and books!” interrupted Ronnie impatiently. “Have you no people of your own class around here?”
“There are one or two big places,” I answered, “but the Darlingfords and the De Veres would not dream of visiting at ‘The Roost.’ Lizzie was only a finishing governess, and Uncle Sep was never a real professor; he is called that hereabouts, and he likes it, and has come to believe in it himself.”
“And have you no variety at all?” Ronnie’s tone was despairing.