“We started again to-day,” cooed Miss Jean.
“Yes, we resumed to-day,” said Miss Amelia. “The common round, the daily task. And, oh Mr Dyce—”
She stopped suddenly at the pressure of her sister’s elbow on her own, and lowered her eyes, that had for a second shown an appalling area of white. It was plain they were going to fly. Mr Dyce felt inclined to cry “Peas, peas!” and keep them a little longer.
“You have my niece with you to-day?” he remarked. “What do you think of her?”
A look of terror exchanged between them escaped his observation.
“She’s—she’s a wonderful child,” said Miss Jean, nervously twisting the strings of a hand-bag.
“A singularly interesting and—and unexpected creature,” said Miss Amelia.
“Fairly bright, eh?” said Mr Dyce.
“Oh, bright!” repeated Miss Jean. “Bright is not the word for it—is it, Amelia?”
“I would rather say brilliant,” said Amelia, coughing, and plucking a handkerchief out of her pocket to inhale its perfume and avert a threatening swound. “I hope—we both hope, Mr Dyce, she will be spared to grow up a credit to you. One never knows?”