“‘Beast’? But it’s human,” laughed Mervyn. “Well, you shall have it, dear. Poogie—there’s your new owner. See? My nose is clean out of joint. I can take a back seat.”
Again Melian started, and momentarily grew grave.
“Poogie.” That too was one of her father’s expressions. She looked again at her uncle. Bright as the lamplight was, still it was artificial light, and under it the likenesss was more and more emphasised, in fact, startling.
“Come upstairs, child, and I’ll show you your room. It’s right next to mine, so you’ve only to bang on the wall—if you want—I mean—er—if you were to get nervous in the middle of the night, in a strange place.”
“But what on earth should I get nervous about?” exclaimed the girl, in round-eyed wonderment.
“Oh, nothing. But the sex is given that way, so I only thought I’d tell you, that’s all. Now, you can find your way down, and we’ll have dinner when you’re ready.”
Left alone, Melian proceeded to look round the room. It was small but cosy, with two cupboards let into the wall. A bright fire burned in the grate, and four lighted candles made a full and cheerful glow. The window she noticed was rather small, and looking out of this, under the light of the moon, she again took stock of the house. The windows at the projecting ends, unoccupied, seemed to stare lifelessly. The house was too much below the level of the sluice to allow a view of the pond, but the outline of the woods towered up against the frosty stars, and the hoot of owls and the high up quacking of flighting duck, sounded upon the stillness. A feeling of intense peace, of intense thankfulness came over her. She had found a very haven of rest she felt already, and her newly acquired relative—well—she was sure she was going to get very fond of him indeed.
Soon she betook herself downstairs, and cosy and bright indeed the room looked. A roast fowl lay temptingly upturned and surrounded by shreds of bacon, and the potatoes were beautifully white and flowery. The little black kitten was playing riotously with a cork tied to the end of a string which always hung from the back of one of the armchairs.
“Well, child, I hope you’ve brought an appetite with you,” said Mervyn, as they sat down. “You’ll have to be fed up. ‘Plain but wholesome,’ you know, as the school prospectuses used to say.”
“Yes, I’ve brought one. I feel miles better already.” And then she talked on—telling him about her life of late, and its ups and downs. But of her earlier life she seemed to avoid mention.