“Why, yes; I am sure he had no notion of your lodging on the Steyne. It is very smart, no doubt, but you would have your front windows for ever stared into, and all your comings and goings ogled by young bucks.”
“Captain Audley,” said Miss Taverner, controlling herself with a strong effort, “you must get down immediately, for I am going home.”
“Good God!” exclaimed the Captain, in lively dismay. “What have I said to offend you?”
“Nothing, nothing! It is only that I have remembered I have a letter to write which must be sent off without any loss of time.”
Within a quarter of an hour Miss Taverner was seated at her desk, furiously mending her pen, her gloves and scarf flung down on the floor beside her. The pen mended to her satisfaction, she dipped it in the standish, and drew a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed paper towards her. After that she sat nibbling the end of her pen while the ink slowly dried. At last she nodded briskly to herself, dipped the pen in the standish a second time, and began to write a careful letter to her guardian.
Brook Street, April 19th.
Dear Lord Worth[she began], I am afraid that I behaved badly this morning in going against your wishes in the matter of the house in Brighton. Upon reflection I am bound to acknowledge that I did wrong. I write now to assure you that I have no real wish to stay on the Marine Parade, and shall obey you in lodging on the Steyne.
Yours sincerely,
Judith Taverner.
She read this through with a pleased smile, sealed it in an envelope, wrote the direction, and rang the bell for a servant.