“Yes—? Do tell me about it!”
“Oh! I don’t know—There are about two cottages. No end of gorse—heather.”
“How lovely!” Then, scenting another pause, I hurried on—“Isn’t there anything else there?”
“Well—There’s a sort of woman.”
“A woman? Really? How interesting! What sort of a woman?”
“Oh, a wooden one,” returned the Governor, who was too obviously thinking about something else. A wooden woman! What could he mean by it? But before I could begin my next question the door opened; the Governor turned quickly, then, seeing who came in, he exclaimed in accents of concentrated disgust:
“Theo! Isn’t it time you were in bed?”
“No! Because I’m not going! I’m going to sit up for dinner, just for this once!” announced the child, triumphantly advancing upon us in a Prize-Day “effect” of let-down white skirts and long, cream-silk-stockinged legs. “I asked Mother, and that nice old man” (Poor Major Montresor!) “begged her to let me, and I may! So there! Nancy, don’t you like the way I’ve done my hair for it?”
She had tied a fillet of white satin—a bit of the same ribbon which was disconcerting Cariad—about her short curls.