“There!” I said; “and yet you tell me to like her. Has she been planning this?”
“It is awfully wrong of me to speak of it; but I thought, of course, you knew.”
“But I don’t want to go.”
“Oh, won’t you, though? Now look here, Dumps. You mustn’t make a fuss; you must be patient; you must—you really must—for I am going with you. It’s to a jolly, jolly school in Paris. We’ll have a nice time—I know we shall.”
“Paris?” I said.
Now, what London girl doesn’t own to a secret hankering for Paris—Paris the gay, the fascinating, the beautiful? Nevertheless, after my first shock of pleasure I was very wary. I said after a pause, “Perhaps you had better not say any more.”
“No, I won’t, as you didn’t know. It’s very odd; you’ll be told probably to-morrow.”
“I suppose so,” I said.
There came a knock at the door. Hermione said, “Come in;” and Augusta intruded her face.
“It seems a great pity you should be here,” she said. “I thought I’d tell you.”