“What, and come back a great hulking tomboy, all muddy boots, and scratched hands like your cousins?”
There was less opposition than Lydia had expected in his manner, and she began to plead eagerly.
“I wouldn’t, truly I wouldn’t—I needn’t play games at all. It’s only for the lessons I want to go. Beatrice and Olive only like it for the hockey, they hate their lessons. But I would work all the time, Grandpapa, and bring back heaps of prizes.”
“Mind, if I let you go at all, it would be only as a day boarder,” said Grandpapa warningly. But there was more than a hint of concession in his tone.
“That’s all I want,” said Lydia.
“I’ll think it over, and talk to your aunt. Now go and fetch me to-day’s paper.”
Grandpapa occasionally made a feint of reading the newspaper to himself, although he was never seen to turn over a page.
“I can’t, Grandpapa. Aunt Beryl took it away, but she is going to bring it back this evening.”
“You can’t?” said Grandpapa in a voice that contrived to be terrible, although it was so small and high-pitched: “Don’t talk nonsense! There’s no such thing as can’t. There’s won’t, if you like.”
Lydia felt very much distressed. Grandpapa’s anger and contempt were not pleasant at any time, and just now when he appeared so nearly disposed to grant her heart’s desire, she was less than ever wishful of incurring them.