“Run away, Billikins, and don’t bother.”
“Aren’t you nearly ready?” came a heartrending chorus from outside, accompanied by the chattering teeth of some blue-faced individual longing to get dry.
“Yes, very nearly, Mr. Fortescue.—Why?” repeated Aureole to Letty, struggling in a chaste attempt to don her red serge white-anchored costume, before letting slip the rest of her garments.
“Because ... but you won’t tell? he doesn’t know I’ve guessed.”
Aureole smiled loftily. “Go on. I don’t tell things. But I’m interested. He’s a curious type.”
“It’s a Test,” whispered Letty, in a hopeless tangle of on and off, scarlet knickers and lawn camisole, and hair in light brown clouds over her shoulders.
“Test? Of your father, you mean?” and Aureole knit her brows.
“No. Of me. You see, he was much richer than us, and I suppose he got it into his head that I loved him for his money and not for himself. So he’s given it all up. When he thinks he has proved me enough, when he sees it makes no difference, he’ll take it back again.”
Letty stood upright now, fully robed for her plunge; and before the speckled little square of looking-glass which hung on the wall, tried to tie her hair into a red and white spotted handkerchief. “When he has proved me enough,” she whispered to her glowing reflection.
Aureole clasped her hands round one shapely knee, and pondered the matter: