Pen frowned. “Yes, but it’s of no use. There is only one thing for it: you will have to run away.”
“But—”
“Now, don’t begin to talk about the scandal, and spoiling your dress!” begged Pen. “For one thing, it is odiously missish, and for another Piers will never be able to bear it.”
“Piers,” said Miss Daubenay, with swelling bosom, “thinks me Perfect!”
“I haven’t seen Piers for a long time, but he can’t have grown up as stupid as that!” Pen pointed out.
“Yes, he—oh, I hate you, I hate you!” cried Lydia, stamping her foot. “Besides, how can I run away?”
“Oh, Piers will have to arrange it! If Richard doesn’t object, I daresay I may help him,” Pen assured her. “You will have to escape at dead of night, of course, which puts me in mind of a very important thing: you will need a rope-ladder.”
“I haven’t a rope-ladder,” objected Lydia.
“Well, Piers must make one for you. If he throws it up to your window, you could attach it securely, could you not, and climb down it?”
“I would rather escape by the door,” said Lydia, gazing helplessly up at her.