“Do what you’re told,” whispered Edred in a tone she had never heard from him before and so fiercely that she said no more about poetry. “We must get you out of this,” Edred went on. “Don’t be a duffer—think of Lady Nithsdale.”
Then Elfrida understood. Her arms fell from round Edred’s neck and she ran back to Lord Arden and put her arms round his neck and kissed him over and over again.
“There, there, my maid, there, there!” he said, patting her shoulder softly, for she was crying.
“Come with me to thy chamber,” said the nurse. “I would take thy measure for a new gown and petticoat.”
But Elfrida clung closer. “She does not want to leave her dad,” said Lord Arden—“dost thou, my maid?”
“No, no,” said Elfrida quite wildly, “I don’t want to leave my daddy!”
“Come,” said Lord Arden, “’tis but for a measuring time. Thou’lt come back, sock lamb as thou art. Go now to return the more quickly.”
“Goodbye, dear, dear, dear daddy!” said Elfrida, suddenly standing up. “Oh, my dear daddy, goodbye!”
“Why, what a piece of work about a new frock!” said the nurse crossly. “I’ve no patience with the child,” and she caught Elfrida’s hand and dragged her into the next room.
“Now,” she whispered, already on her knees undoing Elfrida’s gown, “not a moment to lose. Hold thy handkerchief to thy face and seem to weep as we go out. Why, thou’rt weeping already! So much the better!”