“Don’t you think you had better have let me be a Saint Etheldred’s teacher?” said Amethyst, clasping her hands behind her head, and looking full at her aunt. Amethyst scarcely ever give the rein to her tongue, and poor Miss Haredale hardly knew what to make of it.
“No, my dear,” she said, puzzled, “I can’t think that.”
Amethyst looked at her with a smile like Tory’s. Then she laughed a little, and said—
“Never mind, Auntie; you see, after all, it’s you that I feel at home with, and so I behave ill. It’s such a comfort. I only wanted to know just how the land lay.” And with a kind kiss, she went away, none the happier for her knowledge.
She had not known before how near the other side of the line was, how little lay between her family and an amount of “difficulty” that would make their position untenable. Perhaps she was young and hard; but it was hardly likely she could care for Charles himself, and she distrusted him so entirely that she did not believe that the family name would ever get safe out of his hands.
As she came into the drawing-room, to her intense surprise, there the culprit sat. He never seemed at home nor in place among all the knick-knacks and pretty things, and now he looked sick, shy, and miserable. Charles had none of the nonchalance of his half-sisters, and, truth to tell, he was afraid of them.
“Look here, Amethyst,” he said, awkwardly. “It was deuced unlucky last night, I know. Do tell Grattan I apologise, and all that’s proper. Bad wine at the club, that was all—brandied sherry. Say the kind thing, there’s a good girl.”
“I did not see what passed, and I shall say nothing about it,” said Amethyst, coldly.
“You see—I don’t want Grattan to cut up rough, and though, of course, he’s put his hand in his pocket—I’ve helped him to the connection. He’s not a bad sort, but of course he ain’t a man of family. Put him up to the idea, that the correct thing is to take no notice of anything of that sort.”
“I dare say Sir Richard Grattan can judge of what’s correct,” said Amethyst.