“Really,” said my lord, with an insincere surprise. “By the way, where is Slocum Magna?”
Doubtless owing to the fact that she was a duke’s granddaughter, Miss Perry had excellent if somewhat rustic breeding. Brains were not her strong point, but she had been long enough in London to anticipate almost instinctively Lord Cheriton’s inquiry. Moreover, her astonishment at the ignorance of London people was softened by the friendly indulgence she extended to everybody on the slightest pretext.
“Slocum Magna,” said Miss Perry, without the least appearance of didacticism, “is the next village to Widdiford. They haven’t quite got the railway at Widdiford yet, don’t you know, but it is only three miles away.”
The absence of the railway at Widdiford appeared to decide Cheriton upon his course of action. With the air of a man whose mind is quite made up, he addressed the fair inhabitant of Slocum Magna, North Devon.
“As an old friend of your accomplished aunt’s,” said he, “of many years’ standing, I feel that during your sojourn in the vast metropolis it is only wise and right that I should act, as it were, in loco parentis.”
Although Miss Perry’s papa was a very good classic, he had been unable to communicate his excellence in the dead languages to his second daughter. Miss Perry made no secret of the fact that she had an earnest desire for a little more enlightenment.
“A sort of combination, you know,” said Cheriton, lucidly, “of a courier and a cicerone and a sincere well-wisher. One feels sure it will help you at first to have some one to guide you through the traffic.”
“Burden is quite competent to see that she doesn’t get run over,” said the accomplished aunt of Miss Perry.
“Also, my dear Miss Perry,” said Cheriton, mellifluously, “you may require a little advice occasionally from a man of the world. The vast metropolis is full of pitfalls for your sex.”
“We have poachers at Slocum Magna,” said Miss Perry.