"Of course he did. That's what she was for; we didn't want her. So sympathetic he was; and then he'd break off and joke about her Low Church leanings--she always reads the Rock, does Aunt Emileen--and her wool-work, and her missionary box, and her very strict views of life and its responsibilities--oh, there were some people quite pitied me having such an old fuss to look after me."
Tony sighed.
"I really don't know which is the more incorrigible infant, you or your father. However, you'd better get to bed now and we can see in the morning what it will be best to do. I must see that chap at once; Ford announced him in the middle of your interesting narrative about Aunt Emileen. You must be dreadfully tired, poor child! I'll ask Matron to look after you to-night; come with me."
"Can't I just go and say good-night to those nice boys and see their little studies?"
"No, my dear, you most certainly can't. You must promise me, Lallie, that you will never go into the boys' part of the house unless I or Miss Foster be with you."
Lallie sighed deeply.
"I promise, Tony, but it is hard. I did like them so much, and it would have cheered me up."
The musical voice was most submissive, but in addition it suggested much fatigue and loneliness and disappointment; and poor Tony Bevan felt a perfect brute. Her dark eyes followed him reproachfully as he held the door open for her, and she paused on the threshold to say beseechingly:
"Don't try to be an Uncle Emileen, Tony; the part doesn't suit you one little bit, and I know you'll never be able to keep it up. I'll be a jewel of a girl and a paragon of propriety without you looking so solemn and trying to talk so preachey. You'll be quite used to me being here in a day or two, and I'm sure I'll get on with the boys like anything."
"My dear, you misunderstand me; I am delighted to have you, and I hope you will be very happy. It is only that I am so sorry that Miss Foster----"