“Oh, I don’t quite think that Mr. Ogilvie spoils your little Sibyl,” said Miss Winstead; “he has peculiar ideas, that’s all.”
“We need not discuss that point,” said Mrs. Ogilvie in an irritated tone. “We are back later than I thought, and I have to dine out to-night. I want you, Miss Winstead, to break the tidings to the child that her father has gone to Queensland.”
“I?” said Miss Winstead; “I would really rather——”
“I fear your likes or dislikes with regard to the matter cannot be considered. I cannot tell her, because I should not do it properly; and also, a more serious reason, I really have not the time. You can give Sibyl a treat, if you like, afterwards. Take her out for a walk in the Park after tea, she always likes that; and you can take her to a shop and buy her a new toy—any toy she fancies. Here’s a sovereign; you can go as far as that, you ought to get her something quite handsome for that; and you might ask the little Leicesters next door to come to tea to-morrow. There are a hundred ways in which the mind of a child can be diverted.”
“Not the mind of Sibyl with regard to her father,” interrupted Miss Winstead.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t make too much of it. You know how peculiar he is, and how peculiar she is. Just tell her that he has gone away for a couple of months—that he has gone on an expedition which means money, and that I am pleased about it, that he has done it for my sake and for her sake. Tell her he’ll be back before the summer is over. You can put it any way you like, only do it, Miss Winstead—do it!”
“When?” asked Miss Winstead. She turned very pale, and leant one hand on the table.
“Oh, when you please, only don’t worry me. You had better take her off my hands at once. Just tell her that I am tired and have a headache, and won’t see her until the morning; I really must lie down, and Hortense must bathe my forehead. If I don’t I shall look a perfect wreck to-night, and it is going to be a big dinner; I have been anxious for some time to go. And afterwards there is a reception at the Chinese Embassy; I am going there also. Please ask Watson, on your way through the hall, to have tea sent to my boudoir. And now you quite understand?”
“But, please, say exactly what I am to tell your little girl.”
“Don’t you know? Say that her father has gone—oh, by the way, there’s a letter for her. I really don’t know that she ought to have it. Her father is sure to have said something terribly injudicious, but perhaps you had better give it to her. You might give it to her when you are telling her, and tell her to read it by-and-by, and not to be silly, but to be sensible. That is my message to her. Now pray go, Miss Winstead. Are you better? Have you had a nice time while we were away?”