“We leave here to-morrow,” she announced with curt decision.
“Oh! Not really?”
“Yes,” she proceeded, “to stay at the rectory as a sort of pied-à-terre. I made up my mind about everything before that woman had been in the house five minutes. You shall go to Torrington.”
“No, no, Lizzie,” I protested, “anywhere but Torrington. Do you know it is a fact, that when I was last there I used to lie awake at night for hours hating Aunt Mina? Besides, they won’t have me,” I concluded triumphantly.
“But they must,” she answered, with an air of serene resolution. “I no longer have a suitable home to offer you. I intend to move up to London and take a small flat.”
“And leave Mrs. Puckle monarch of all she surveys?”
“By no means,” deliberately turning up her skirt and placing a pair of neat black velvet shoes upon the fender. “Uncle Sep has misled her. She believes that the house and money are exclusively his, and is not aware that the half of everything belongs to me. I shall consult my solicitor, value, remove and store my portion of the furniture, let half ‘The Roost,’ and take my share of all—yes, to the ultimate egg spoon!”
“Will you?” I ejaculated. “What fun!”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Puckle will not see the humour of the situation, but find herself bitterly disappointed. With our united incomes, and your hundred a year, Uncle Sep and I were almost rich. Now he will be obliged to economise. I am sorry for Uncle Sep. I have always understood that Mrs. Puckle, who was penniless, contrived to make herself so agreeable to Mrs. Williams at Number 20 that she kept her on as useful help, advertiser and toady! I believe she has two ne’er-do-well sons and a married daughter, and no doubt will accommodate them all at ‘The Roost.’ Poor Uncle!”
To which adjuration I added a fervent “Amen.”