A Very Naughty Girl

by L. T. Meade

Sylvia was really very tired—dead tired. She went up-stairs, and as soon as she laid her head on her pillow was sound asleep.

Meanwhile Mr. Leeson slept on for two or three hours; it was past the middle of the night when he awoke. He woke wide awake, as elderly people will, and looked round him. The fire had burnt itself down to a great red mass; the room looked cheery and comfortable in the warm rays. Mr. Leeson stirred himself luxuriously and wrapped the blanket, which Jasper had brought from her own stores, tightly round his person. After a time, however, its very softness and fluffiness and warmth attracted his attention. He began to feel it between his fingers and thumb; then he roused himself, sat up, and looked at it. A suspicious look came into his eyes.

“What is the matter?” he said to himself. “Is Sylvia spending money that I know nothing about? Why, this is a new blanket! I have an inventory of every single thing that this house possesses. Surely new blankets are not included in that inventory! I can soon see.”

He rose, lit a pair of candles, went to a secretary which stood against the wall, opened it, and took out a book marked “Exact Inventory of all the Furniture at The Priory.” He turned up the portion devoted to house linen, and read the description of the different blankets which the meager establishment contained. There was certainly a lack of these valuable necessaries; the blankets at The Priory had seen much service, and were worn thin with use and washing. But this blanket was new—oh, delicious, of course—but what was the man worth who needed such luxuries! Mr. Leeson pushed it aside with a disturbed look on his face.

“Sylvia must be spending money,” he said to himself. “I have observed it of late. She looks better, and she decidedly gives me extravagant meals. The bread is not as stale as it might be, and there is too much meat used. This soup——”

He took up the empty cup from which he had drained the soup a few hours back, and looked at a drop or two which still remained at the bottom.

“Positively it jellies,” he said to himself—“jellies! Then, too, in my rambles round this evening I noticed that smoke again—that smoke coming from the kitchen. There is too much fuel used here, and these blankets are disgraceful, and the food is reckless—there is no other word for it.”

He sank back on his sofa and gazed at the fire.

“Ah!” he said as he looked full at the flames, “out you go presently; and for some time the warmth will remain in the room, and I shall not dream of lighting any other fire here until that warmth is gone. Sylvia takes after her mother. There was never a better woman than my dear wife, but she was madly, disgracefully extravagant. What shall I do if this goes on?—and pretty girls like Sylvia are apt to be so thoughtless. I wish I could send her away for a bit; it will be quite terrible if she develops her mother’s tastes. I could not be cruel to my pretty little girl, but she certainly will be a fearful thorn in my side if she buys blankets of this sort, and feeds me with soup that jellies, forsooth! What am I to do? I have not saved quite so much as I ought during the last week. Ah! the house is silent as the grave. I shall just count out the money I have put into that last canvas bag.”

A stealthy, queer light came into Mr. Leeson’s eyes. He crossed the room on tiptoe and turned the key in the lock. As he did so he seemed to be assailed by a memory.