“What does this mean? what is it, Brenda?” he said. “Why, Flo—she is quite a child: how old is she, Brenda?”
“Eighteen,” said Brenda at once. “Just a year younger than I am.”
“Well, tell me all about it.”
“I will tell you what I know,” said Brenda. “We have been, as you know, visitors at Langdale for several years. It is true that Mrs Fortescue has taken us to the seaside in the summer, but we have invariably spent our Easter and Christmas holidays at Langdale, and we have got to know the people. In especial, we have got to know the Arbuthnots, who are, in my opinion, absolutely sweet; and there are the Misses Salter, who are very kind and very, very nice; and there is Major Reid—a dear old gentleman—and Major Reid’s son. It is about Major Reid’s son I want to tell you.”
“Yes—yes!” said Mr Timmins, in an impatient and very anxious voice.
“He is in the Army,” continued Brenda. “He is quite young—I don’t know his age, but he cannot be twenty-five yet. He is a lieutenant in one of His Majesty’s regiments of foot, and we have known him since he was a young lad and we were children. I never did notice that he especially cared about Florence; but this Christmas his manners were completely changed—in fact, the other day, he asked her to marry him.”
“Thinking that she would be an heiress, no doubt, the young scoundrel!” said Mr Timmins, with an angry twist of his person as he spoke.
“Oh no; there you wrong him. He told Florence most emphatically that he cared for her only for herself, and he would marry her gladly if she were as poor as a church mouse. Now, I don’t know why church mice should be especially poor; but that was his expression, and it has had a great weight with Florence, who knew the truth all the time, but could not tell him on account of her promise to you.”
“Ha!” said Mr Timmins. “She never told him—the little witch—did she?”
“Of course she didn’t. She had faithfully promised you not to breathe it to a soul.”