“You are not much of a soldier if you give way to your passions every moment. But now, to the point. I want you to read aloud to me while I am making a copy of this stupid old cast. It is too dull for anything, and I want to finish the story-book which I took from the drawing-room.”
“But I have to go on with my lessons. Don’t you see that I am awfully busy?”
In reply to this Augusta got up and put the book in question into Nan’s hand.
“Read,” she said. “I will let you off in half-an-hour; in half-an-hour I shall have done as much as I can of this horrible drawing. I do positively hate drawing. Now then, start away. If you do not read, there is something I can tell you which you will not at all like to hear.”
“You are always frightening me. I do not see why I should be under your control,” said Nan.
“Get out of it, then, my dear, your own way. Remember what will happen if you do.”
“What?”
“I shall be obliged to tell all that occurred in the attic when the white rat died.”
“All? But you won’t leave out your own part, Augusta?”
“Yes, but I shall. I shall tell that you implored and begged of me to keep it a secret, and that I listened to you. You know what this means, Nan. Your blue ribbon is given back; you are a soldier without his sword, disgraced for life. Now then, do not fret; I am not going to be too hard, but I must be read to, for I am suffering from irritation of the nerves, and nothing soothes me like a real jolly story-book.”