“You know, when I first went to Torrington I was a small child, and by all accounts dreadfully spoiled; later on, in the holidays, I was too young to appear in company, and was generally hustled out of sight. My goodness, but it was dull, all alone, in the old nursery! Coming down to lunch as a treat, cross-examined and snubbed by the girls, and overawed by Aunt Mina—she had a way of looking at me that made me feel as if I had no clothes on!”
“My dear Eva, don’t be improper!”
“You see,” I resumed—now comfortably embarked on a flowing tide of talk, and eager to impart my confidence to a sympathetic ear—“I can realise what a nuisance I was in those days. The house was full of grown-ups and smart people, and I was just a lanky girl who slunk in to lunch or was met roaming about the grounds! Then twice I brought home infection, and gave most of the establishment mumps and chicken-pox—so you can’t wonder that I was not popular! After all, I am only Aunt Mina’s niece by marriage; Uncle is nice to me in his cheery, vague, irresponsible way, but he has no say. Living in the nursery, I naturally heard a good deal of backstairs talk, and gathered that Aunt manages everything—even to evicting tenants and arranging the shoots.”
“Oh, come! I don’t think it is as bad as all that,” protested Ronnie; “though of course a man who marries half a million must pay some sort of interest. The family were in very deep water, when potted meat came along and hauled them out. When were you last at Torrington?”
“Two years ago this Christmas.”
Ronnie was about to exclaim, but I put my hand over his mouth.
“Do let me talk,” I pleaded. “I want to tell you things I can’t write. It was the Christmas before last. I was in long frocks with my hair up, and had just left Cheltenham. I caught a slight cold on the journey, but was nevertheless in the wildest spirits, full of anticipation of the delights that awaited me now that I was officially fledged.”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Ronnie impatiently; “that is all stale news.”
“The evening after I arrived there was a dinner party, and I happened by good luck to sit next to a charming man, who was very agreeable, and no doubt drew me out. A lively girl sat opposite to us; she had a loud voice, and talked the most ridiculous nonsense, much appreciated by Beverley, her neighbour.
“‘What is your family disease?’ she asked him; ‘ours is softening of the bones.’ And Bev replied: