“But I am not your guest. The house belongs to me—or at least it will be mine,” said Evelyn.
“You are quite right in saying you are not my guest. You are my husband’s niece, and in the future you will inherit his property; but if I hear you speaking in that rude way again I shall be forced to punish you. I can see for myself that you are an ill-bred girl and will require a vast lot of breaking-in.”
“And you think you can do it?” said Evelyn, her eyes flashing.
“I intend to do it. I am going to talk to you for a few minutes this morning, and after I have spoken I wish you to clearly understand that you are to do as I tell you. You will not be unhappy here; on the contrary, you will be happy. At first you may find the necessary rules of a house like this somewhat irksome, but you will get into the way of them before long. You need discipline, and you will have it here. I will not say much more on that subject this morning. You can find Audrey, and she and Miss Sinclair will take you round the grounds and amuse you, and you must be very much obliged to them for their attentions. Audrey is my daughter, and I think I may say without undue flattery that you will find her a most estimable companion. She is well brought up, and is a charming girl in every sense of the word. Miss Sinclair is her governess; she will also instruct you, but time enough for that in the future. Now, when you leave here go straight to your room and desire your servant—Jasper, I think, you call her—to dress you in a plain and suitable frock.”
“A frock!” said Evelyn. “I wear dresses—long dresses. I am not a child; mothery said I had the sense of several grown-up people.”
“The garment you are now in you are not to wear again; it is unsuitable, and I forbid you to be even seen in it. Do you understand?”
“I hear you,” said Evelyn.
“Go up-stairs and do what I tell you, and then you can go into the grounds. Audrey is having holidays at present; you will find her with her governess in the shrubbery. Now go; the time I can devote to you for the present is up.”
“I had better give you this first,” said Evelyn.
She thrust her hand into her pocket and took out the ill-spelt and now exceedingly dirty note which poor Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania had written to Lady Frances before her death.