“Just like poetry. And one thing more. Don’t speak to Mr. Vavasour unless he speaks to you.”
“No, no, Aunt Anne. I never do.”
Once again I must compress. As the summer advanced, Gertrude, nose down in full cry on the track, unfolded to me a project which only needed my co-operation.
I reminded her that I never co-operated, but she paid no attention, and said she wished to send the children with Joan and Dulcie to the seaside for a month, while she watched over Jimmy during his annual visit to Harrogate. The children required a change.
I agreed.
She had thought of Lee on the Solent. (You will remember, reader, that Mr. Vavasour’s place was near Lee.)
“Why Lee?” I said, pretending surprise. “Expensive and only ten miles away. No real change of climate. Send them to Felixstowe or Scarborough.”
But Gertrude’s mind was made up. She poured forth batches of adequate reasons. It must be Lee. Would I accompany the party as their guest? Joan and Dulcie were rather too young to go into lodgings alone.
I saw at once that, under the circumstances, Lee was no place for me. I might get into hot water. I, so free now, might become entangled in the affairs of others, and might be blamed later on. I might find myself acting with duplicity or, to be more exact, I might be found out to be doing so.