"There was a horrid murder committed there ages ago. I was in the house at the time, and----"
"Madam," interposed Durban sharply; "please do not tell Miss Hedge anything more. She has had enough horrors for the time being."
Lady Watson looked straight at Durban, and he looked straight at her. The situation was adjusted between them without words, and although Beatrice protested that she wished to hear about the earlier crime, the frivolous little woman declined to say another word.
"How can one talk of such things in the midst of such lovely scenery as you have here?" she cried, and put up a tortoise-shell lorgnette to survey The Camp. "Quite delicious. I shall make this a kind of country-house. So odd, you know, with all these railway carriages. Dear Mr. Alpenny! he was so very queer in his tastes. But I'll come here with you, dearest Beatrice, and we'll garden and live like milkmaids--like Marie Antoinette, you know. Rural life--delicious."
"I am going to live at the Grange, Lady Watson."
"But I want you to be my companion. I insist." Lady Watson spoke with some sharpness, as apparently she was a lady not accustomed to be thwarted in her wishes.
"I have arranged to live at the Grange," said Beatrice, and Durban nodded his approval; "for a time, that is. Afterwards, I intend to go out as a governess."
"What! With that face and figure? You foolish girl, I won't allow it. You must enter society on my money--or rather on that poor creature's, Alpenny's, money--and marry and----"
"I don't think you have any right to tell me what to do, Lady Watson," said Beatrice, annoyed by this imperious air.
"As your mother's dearest friend?"