Miss Lentaigne looked at her a little doubtfully. She had known Priscilla for many years and had learned to be particularly suspicious of meekness.
“I heard the stable clock strike,” said Priscilla. “It’s half-past nine.”
“Very well,” said Miss Lentaigne. “Good-night.”
Priscilla kissed her aunt lightly on her left cheek bone. Then she held out her hand to Lady Torrington.
“You may kiss me,” said the lady. “You seem to be a very quiet well behaved little girl.”
Priscilla kissed Lady Torrington and then passed on to Frank.
“Good-night, Cousin Frank,” she said. “I hope you’re not tired after being out in the boat, and I hope your ankle will be better tomorrow.”
Her eyes still had an expression of cherubic innocence; but just as she let go Frank’s hand she winked abruptly. He found as she turned away, that she had left something in his hand. He unfolded a small, much crumpled piece of blotting paper, taken, he supposed, by stealth from the writing table beside Priscilla’s chair. A note was scratched with a point of a pin on the blotting paper.
“Come to the shrubbery, ten sharp. Most important. Excuse scratching. No pencil.”
“Priscilla,” said Lady Torrington, “is a sweet child, very subdued and modest.”