Miss Ransome was too old a hand, in experience if not in years, to be trapped into a confidence by the device of pretending to know all about it; so her rejoinder was a fence.
“What was all on, and is all off?”
“Oh, come, do not pretend innocence; we have not too much time. Remember that it was I who first introduced you to him—turned you into the conservatory together, the day he came to your rescue when you were in such an abject fright at the idea of a tête-à-tête drive home with poor old Charlie.” She chuckled at the recollection; and, since the only way in which Bonnybell showed that she “rose” to this jogging of her memory was by a slight shiver, continued, “It came to grief over a letter. Did anything unlucky turn up? Did they find out anything?”
A slight repetition of the shiver produced by “Charlie’s” name ran over Bonnybell. Stillington might not have effected much in the way of moral teaching, but it had at least made Flora’s scheme of ethics unfamiliar. And Flora’s appearance did not gain in impressiveness by proximity. She had evidently lately embarked on a new dye, which had stained her hair with a brilliant pink hue. If it was champagne-coloured now, it was a very bad and headachey champagne!
There was a lovely maiden flush on Bonnybell’s cheek as she answered very gently—
“There was nothing about me to find out; nothing that I could help.”
Lady Tennington looked at her with compassionate surprise and amusement at the carefully suppressed indignation lurking under her mild words.
“I know that; you always were a very good little miss!” she rejoined, laughing; then, more seriously, “Yes, you poor little devil, I really believe that you are speaking truth; and, of course, Claire had no business to take you to those places.”
“She never did when she was all right.”
The plea was set up with the customary generosity; nor did its utterer ever seem aware that the defence was in itself an indictment.