“I can see your cottage!” observed Cynthia mischievously. “It’ll be crammed with all sorts of derelicts and lame dogs and you’ll go fussing round them like a hen with a lot of chickens. May I come and stay with you, Uncle Fayre?”
“As often and as long as you like. You’ll be a respectable married woman by then and you can act as chaperone to Miss Allen.”
“Is Miss Allen going to stay with you?”
“If she’ll come. I haven’t asked her yet.”
“I’m glad you’ve made friends with her. She’s a brick, isn’t she?”
“A thorough good sort, I should say,” assented Fayre rather cautiously. There was a gleam in Cynthia’s eye he didn’t quite like.
She flashed a sidelong glance at him.
“It’s an awfully good idea; I wonder I never thought of it.”
“What is?” asked Fayre suspiciously.
“Her coming to stay with you, of course,” was Cynthia’s innocent rejoinder.