“Bev befriended me—supplied me with magazines and chocolates, but when he began to make love to me—that was another pair of shoes!”
“So I should think—the moon-faced idiot!” commented Ronnie.
“Well, one afternoon he tried to kiss me, and was actually chasing me round the table, when Aunt Mina entered. She was furious. Bev fled headlong, and on me she poured all the vials of her wrath. She said I was a bold, designing minx, a disgrace to the family. For once I protested, and protested with fury—assured her that I loathed the sight of Bev, and never wished to see him again—no, nor anyone at Torrington! Naturally I was soon squashed. Aunt was too strong for me, and the scene ended in humiliation and tears. Possibly my prolonged weeping increased my cold, which presently developed alarmingly. The local doctor (Aunt Mina’s slave) was summoned. He talked gravely about pneumonia, and my lungs, and announced that I had a delicate chest, and must on no account remain at Torrington—the place was too low and enervating—so I was promptly packed off to Beke, where I have been ever since!”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Ronnie. “Why, it is a sort of countrified Bastille. How on earth did Aunt Mina discover it?”
“Quite easily,” I replied. “Miss Puckle was the girls’ governess when I was small. I remember her well; so trim and punctual, and authoritative, with a trick of pulling down her belt if she was going to be disagreeable, but always indulgent to me. When I was in trouble I used to sit on her lap and just sob and sob.”
“I wonder you don’t do it now,” said Ronnie.
“I am afraid I am a size too large. As for Beke, some years ago an old relation died and left a fine legacy and ‘The Roost’ between Lizzie and her uncle the professor, so they retired together, and are now in what is called ‘easy circumstances.’ I contribute a hundred a year.”
“You are humbugging! Why, they ought to pay you as companion—and lady help.”
“Aunt arranged everything; she declared I could not be better off than at ‘The Roost.’ The doctor particularly recommended this marshy air, with a dash of sea, she said, and I might continue my music and sketching with Lizzie—who would finish me properly.”
“Finish you indeed!” cried Ronnie, “I wonder Beke has not finished you long ago. Hallo, I say, who are the riders coming down the road? Shall I put my arm round your neck and pretend I am your sweetheart, and give the poor natives a fresh piece of gossip?”