Baker, who had grown portly with years, and had known me as a child, was rather inclined to be paternal in his manner. He had witnessed my fits of fury and been privy to my terms of punishment and disgrace. After a word or two of greeting, he added:
“We have put you in the pink room, Miss Eva.”
“Yes, Baker, I am beyond the nursery now, am I not?” I said as I stood beside him in the hall and looked over his head, now bald and shiny.
“That’s true, miss, a grown-up young lady. I should say you’d shot up a couple of inches since you were here last. Tea is laid in the library. I expect the squire will be in directly.”
A pause of horror as he noticed Kip.
“I say, Miss Eva, this will never do; what about the dog?”
“Oh, the dog will be all right,” I replied in my most offhand style, “and no trouble to anyone.”
Baker gave a dubious cough and said:
“You know Mrs. Lingard don’t allow visiting dogs. I can’t see how we shall manage.”
I made no reply, but turned to ascend to my room. Baker accompanied me, still muttering to himself and shaking his head. More than once he had carried me, kicking and screaming, up these very stairs! On the first landing I was met and taken charge of by a smart maid, who ushered me into one of the second best rooms—a pretty apartment, facing south—and asked me for my keys. I endeavoured diplomatically and with some success to interest her with respect to Kip, released my best hat from durance vile, bathed my face, got into a new blouse, and hurried down to meet my uncle in the library. He had just returned from hunting and brought with him a bracing whiff of keen fresh air and new leather.