"They sold my horse when I was out," she said to Stafford. "My grey horse! You see, until I come of age or marry, I'm a minor without an income, and Dearest is affected by economy and wants mowing machines."
A dangerous glimmer shone in Gheena's eyes. Basil Stafford said "Indeed!" in tones of unmixed perplexity.
"I'll marry the Professor if Dearest is not careful," said Gheena.
Then with the lack of grace which haunts woman in muddy apron habit skirts and high boots, Gheena marched to her room, where Crabbit, very wet indeed, was just tearing into.
Evidently sorry she had missed that rat, he had gone out to fetch her comfort, and laid the sodden handkerchief, which he had picked up the day before, at her feet.
"Crabbit, you horrid dog!" said Gheena, her hand on his soft brown head; "but you meant it nicely." She held up the sopped rag, meaning to throw it on the fire, and saw the marking.
"Heinrich V. Belstein" in neat letters, and a number torn off.
A German's handkerchief cast up on the shores. Handkerchiefs do not float for long; even supposing it had caught in some seaweed, it was not likely to come from a distance. No submarine had been sunk. Gheena forgot that she was muddy and that a fire which she expected to see was non-existent. Someone was trafficking with German submarines. Some of the U boats must have been close in.
Gheena put her finger on the bell and kept it there, until Mary Kate, the head housemaid, arrived at full gallop, breathlessly wanting to know if Miss Gheena had a wakeness.
"Dropped down dead we all thought you must be, Miss, when the bell went on whirring."