'Lesley,' I said. 'At least ours is,' and I touched Peterkin. 'I'm Giles and he's Peterkin. We know Mrs. Wylie, and we live on the Marine Parade.'
Beryl nodded.
'Yes,' she said, 'I've heard of you. And,' she touched Margaret gently, 'this small maiden? What is her name—she is not your sister?'
'No,' I replied. 'She is Margaret——' I stopped short. For the first time it struck me that I had never heard her last name!
'Margaret Fothergill,' she said quickly. 'I live next door but one to Mrs. Wylie, and next door to the parrot. Do you know the parrot in Rock Terrace?'
Beryl nodded again.
'I have heard of him too,' she said.
But suddenly a new idea—I should rather say the old one—struck Margaret again. Her voice changed, and she clasped her hands piteously.
'You won't, oh, you won't send me back to the witch? Say you won't.'
'What does she mean?' asked Beryl, turning to me, as if she thought Margaret was half out of her mind, though, all the same, she drew her still closer.