Then Erebus entered, her piquant face all aglow: “I couldn’t find your handkerchief anywhere, Mum. It took me ever such a time,” she said, giving it to her.
The puzzled air faded from the Terror’s face; and he said in a tone of deep meaning: “Have you been running to find it? You’re quite out of breath.”
For a moment a horrid suspicion filled the mind of Captain Baster.… But no: it was impossible—a child in whose veins flowed some of the bluest blood in England. Besides, her slender arms could never have thrown the stones as straight and hard as that.
On the other hand Sir Maurice appeared to have lost for once his superb self-possession; he was staring at his beautiful niece with his mouth slightly open. He muttered; something about finding his handkerchief, and stumbled out of the room. They heard a door bang up-stairs; then, through the ceiling, they heard a curious drumming sound. It occurred to the Terror that it might be the heels of Sir Maurice on the floor.
Mrs. Dangerfield rang for old Sarah and instructed her to pull the gorse prickles out of Captain Baster’s clothes. She had nearly finished when Sir Maurice returned. He carried a handkerchief in his hand, and he had recovered his superb self-possession; but he seemed somewhat exhausted.
Captain Baster was somewhat excessive in the part of the wounded hero; and for a while he continued to talk ferociously of the vengeance he would wreak on the scoundrelly villagers. But after a while he forgot his pricks and bruises to bask in the presence of Sir Maurice; and he plied him with unflagging friendliness for the rest of the evening.
The Twins were allowed to sit up till ten o’clock since their Uncle Maurice was staying with them; and since the Terror was full of admiration and approval of Erebus’ strenuous endeavor to instil into Captain Baster the perils and drawbacks of stepfatherhood, he brushed out her abundant hair for her, an office he sometimes performed when she was in high favor with him. As he did it she related gleefully the stoning of their enemy.
When she had done, he said warmly: “It was ripping. But the nuisance is: he doesn’t know it was you who did it, and so it’s rather wasted.”
“Don’t you worry: I’ll let him know sometime to-morrow,” said Erebus firmly.
“Yes; but he’s awfully waxy: suppose he prosecutes you?” said the Terror doubtfully.