“You don’t know,” he said, “what Lord Torrington is here for.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” said Priscilla. “I’m not quite an ass. I was listening to Aunt Juliet and Lady Torrington shooting barbed arrows at each other after dinner. Aunt Juliet got rather the worst of it, I must say. Lady Torrington is one of those people whose garments smell of myrrh, aloes and cassia, and yet whose words are very swords; you know the sort I mean.”
“Lord Torrington is chasing his daughter,” said Frank, “who has run away from home. I vote we find her first and then help her to hide.”
“Of course. That’s what we’re going to do. That’s why we’re going off in the boat tomorrow.”
“But she’s not on the bay,” said Frank. “Miss Rutherford is too fat to be her. He said so.”
“Who’s talking about Miss Rutherford? She’s simply sponge-hunting. Nobody but a fool would think she was Miss Torrington.”
“Lady Isabel,” said Frank. “He’s a marquis.”
“Anyhow she’s not the escaped daughter.”
“Then who is?”
“The lady spy, of course. Any one could see that at a glance.”