“Oh dear, how dignified we are! I shall begin to believe in the ancient family if this sort of thing continues. But now, my dear, the moment has come to help you. The hour has arrived when your own Nancy, vulgar as she is, can lend you a helping hand. Listen.”
“What?” said Pauline.
“Jump up, Paulie; take my hand, and you and I together will walk out through that wicket-gate, and go back through the dear old Forest to The Hollies, and spend the day at my home. There are my boy cousins from London, and my two friends, Rebecca and Amelia Perkins—jolly girls, I can tell you. We shall have larks. What do you say, Paulie? A fine fright she’ll be in when she misses you. Serve her right, though.”
“But I daren’t come with you,” said Pauline. “I’d love it more than anything in the world; but I daren’t. You mustn’t ask me. You mustn’t try to tempt me, Nancy, for I daren’t go.”
“I didn’t know you were so nervous.”
“I am nervous about a thing like that. Wild as I have been, and untrained all my life, I do not think I am out-and-out wicked. It would be wicked to go away without leave. I’d be too wretched. Oh, I daren’t think of it!”
Nancy pursed up her lips while Pauline was speaking; then she gave vent to a low, almost incredulous whistle. Finally she sprang to her feet.
“I am not the one to try and make you forget your scruples,” she said. “Suppose you do this. Suppose you come at seven o’clock to-night. Then you will be safe. You may be wicked, but at least you will be safe. She’ll never look for you, nor think of you again, when once you have gone up to bed. You have a room to yourself, have you not?”
Pauline nodded.
“I thought so. You will go to your room, lock the door, and she will think it is all right. The others won’t care to disturb you. If they do they’ll find the door locked.”