“True as gospel,” replied her companion emphatically; “as true as I am sitting here. If your father knew of your whereabouts, he would certainly claim you, and give you a ripping time. You might ask me to stay?” she added playfully. “You would have motors, balls, racing, a town house, a country house. I only wish I had a chance of standing in your shoes!”
“I declare you have made me feel quite giddy,” and Cara put her hand to her head; “but I understand a lot of things—now.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.—You look pretty wide-awake.”
“I see why we have no English friends, except Mrs. Hesketh—whom I hate, and who never ceases asking bothering questions, and making nasty speeches, and tells me, that I can never repay the Mum for all she has done for me.”
“Done you out of, she means!” briskly corrected Miss Plassy.
“And I remember a man we met ages ago on the Fluellen boat; awfully good-looking; he and mother seemed so amazed to see one another. He was going to India, and they had such a talk. After he left, the Mum cried a lot. I think his name was Lumley.”
“That’s the man she ran away with!” declared Miss Plassy triumphantly.
“And now after hearing all this, I’ve got to go home to the Mum and face her! I don’t see how I can ever forgive her; she has spoiled my life. Oh,” and her voice was broken with emotion, “when I think of all I have missed, since I was a kid, it’s too, too, awful!” and large tears welled from Cara’s hard blue eyes.
“It will all come right some day,” said the other soothingly. “Why, you are only seventeen, and not even out yet. Your mother just wanted you all to herself, you see. Do finish your ice.”
Cara felt that under the circumstances, it would be more dignified to leave the ice untouched,—but it was characteristic of her, that she gobbled down the remainder of the Pêche Melba, and left an empty plate.