Certainly, she had not yet been sent to bed with a box on the ear because a countess had shown symptoms of noticing her more than her ugly, over-dressed cousin. But then Aunt Lily would not allow her to walk down alone to the Casement Villas to see dear Constance, and would let that farmer keep all those dreadful cows in the paddock, so that even going escorted was a terror to her.
Nor had her handsome mourning been taken from her and old clothes of her cousin substituted for it. No, but she had been cruelly pulled about between Mrs. Halfpenny and the Silverton dressmaker with a mouthful of pins; and Aunt Lily had insisted on her dress being trimmed with velvet, instead of the jingling jet she preferred.
Did they intercept her letters? She had had one from her father, sent from Falmouth, but only one from Maude Sefton in ten days! Moreover, she had one from Constance in her apron pocket, arrived that very afternoon, asking her to come down with Gillian on the Sundays, that the friends might enjoy themselves together while the classes were going on; but she made sure that all were so jealous of her friendship with Constance that no consent would be given.
She did not hear or notice the whisperings in the laurels behind her—
‘Do you see that sulky old Croat, smoking his pipe under the tree?’
‘No, he is a Black Brunswicker.’
‘Nonsense, Willie; the Black Brunswickers weren’t till Bonaparte’s time.’
‘I don’t care, he is anything black and nasty; here goes!’
‘Oh stop; don’t shoot. I believe he is only a vivandiere. Besides, it’s treacherous—’
‘I tell you he is laying a train to blow up the tower. There!’