"Run away, kid, and talk to grandfather," Sidney ordered; and the little whirlwind whisked round Nellie and departed.
"I did have the idea, but thought somehow it wasn't possible," Nellie was saying. "You have humbugged everybody, but you never really deceived me; if you had, I shouldn't be here now. I saw through your Dartmoor dialect, and all the rest of it. And I suppose Dorothy is your elder sister?"
"Of course she is."
"And the much-abused Mrs. Stanley—"
"Is my mother who, in spite of local rumour, does not put on local colour."
"Why ever didn't you tell me before? What was the sense of making such a mystery of it?"
"The people in Highfield made the mystery. We didn't want them to know we were here."
"Couldn't they see you, stupid?" said Nellie, more cheerfully.
"I mean grandfather didn't want them to know who we are; but I should have let out everything that evening—when you were spiteful—if we hadn't quarrelled. You know, Nellie, you were rather too cross about mother, and—and I lost my temper because you wouldn't trust me, and I made up my mind you should."
"You are nearly as bad as George Drake," she declared.