“No,” said Issy. “He’d go to Brighton if he went anywhere. I’ve got another brother who’s gone to Paris.”
“O-oh! Paris! Is he rich too?”
“No.”
Issy shut up like an oyster. He could feel the girl probing into him, and he was sorry he had brought her. She was spoiling his fun, the adventures he had promised himself during his holiday from Rosa’s indefatigable attentions. Hetty was too dangerous. He knew that if she got hold of him she would not let go.
He took her home and never spoke another word to her during the remainder of his visit, and he said to his mother once:—
“That’s an awful girl.”
“Worse than Rosa?” asked Golda.
“Rosa would stay. That girl would be off like a cat on the tiles.”
Golda retorted with a description of Rosa of the same kind, but of a more offensive degree.
Declaring that they were better for the sea air, and warmly enjoining Mrs. Finch to visit then if ever she should come to London, the party left Margate with shells and toffee and painted china for their friends and relations, conspicuous among their luggage being the buckets and spades which had never been used.