“Well, we’ll stop there to-day,” said Aneta, “at Laburnum Villa, Clapham. I want to see Mrs. Martin, Maggie’s mother.”
“Oh, dear child,” said Lady Lysle, “you mean Miss Howland when you speak of Maggie? Now, you know I told you that her stepfather is no relation whatever to the Martyns of The Meadows. I cannot make out why she should have given you to understand that he was. A man who lives at Clapham! Dear Aneta, I would rather be excused.”
“There is no excuse, auntie, that I can listen to for a single moment. I know all about Maggie’s stepfather, and I will tell you as we are driving out to Clapham. You have always let me have my own way, and I have—yes, I have tried to be a good girl; but there is something before me to-day more important and more difficult than I ever tackled yet, and if I can’t come to my own aunt—I, who am a motherless girl—for help at this crisis I shall think the world is coming to an end.”
“What a strange, earnest way you do speak in, Aneta!”
“I am very sorry, darling; but I assure you the case is most urgent. You are quite well, aren’t you?”
“Oh yes, my love; I am never an ailing sort of person.”
“Well, then, I will send Purcell back to you, and please order the carriage, and please be as quick as possible. We have to go somewhere else after we have done with Mrs. Martin.”
“Well, Aneta, I always was wax in your hands, and I suppose I must do what you wish. But remember your promise that you will tell me the meaning of this extraordinary thing during our drive to Clapham.”
“I promise faithfully to tell you what is necessary, for the fact is I want your help. Darling auntie! you are doing about the best work of your life to-day. I knew you would stand by me; I felt certain of it, and I told Maggie so.”
“That girl!” said Lady Lysle. “I don’t care for that girl.”