Richard Sotheby listened without saying a word; he was kneeling in front of the little fire he had just lighted. The sticks smouldered but went out when the paper had burnt away, and she paused in her story while he fetched a bottle of turpentine from his paint-box. He sprinkled a little of the spirit, and a thick yellow flame sprang up; then the sticks crackled. All his attention seemed to be for the fire, only when she spoke of the advertisement he turned his head sharply to look at her, and when she told him that an answer had come that morning he exclaimed: “Extraordinary!” under his breath.
“But what does your father say to all this?” he asked suddenly, as he handed her the cup of tea he had poured out. Anne found the confession of her cowardice was difficult; Sotheby was staring at her as if he were surprised by her words.
“I think that would be behaving very heartlessly,” he said when she had done. He filled the lid of the kettle with tea, blew on it and added: “It would be a great shock to him, and it seems to me so unnecessary. Children have parents so much at their mercy; their one duty to them, surely, is to avoid shattering their illusions. I’m not a good son; my father is excessively irritating; quite as irritating as yours. I don’t love him, and that makes me feel ashamed.... You have left it so late.... Do you really think that getting this place is worth having to behave so badly?”
Anne’s face fell, and rather sulkily she pulled the letter she had got that morning out of her pocket.
Richard Sotheby glanced at it, wrinkled his nose, and began reading it aloud:
“Spion Kop,”
14A Kimberley Road,
West Sutton Vallance,
London, W.23.
Dear Madam,
I have seen your advertisement in The Church Times, and think it possible that you may suit me. I am looking for a companion of gentle birth who would be willing to undertake light duties in the house. I have a girl who comes in daily. What I really require is someone who will, as far as possible, take the place of my own devoted and dearly-loved daughter who died last year after a long illness, patiently borne.
I would introduce you to a pleasant circle of friends, and would look after you as, I think you will agree, a girl should be looked after on coming so near London. I cannot offer a high wage, but you will have every home comfort. Will you please tell me in your answer, your age, and whether you have been away from home before, and when you can come up for me to interview you. It is essential that you should be fond of dogs, but no doubt you are. This neighbourhood is considered a very healthy one, and the house is next door to the church.
Yours faithfully,
Ethel Crowlink.