‘Mine’s Philadelphia. But everybody except René calls me Phil. I’m Squire Bucksteed’s daughter—over at Marklake yonder.’ She jerked her little round chin towards the south behind Dallington. ‘Sure-ly you know Marklake?’
‘We went a picnic to Marklake Green once,’ said Una. ‘It’s awfully pretty. I like all those funny little roads that don’t lead anywhere.’
‘They lead over our land,’ said Philadelphia stiffly, ‘and the coach road is only four miles away. One can go anywhere from the Green. I went to the Assize Ball at Lewes last year.’ She spun round and took a few dancing steps, but stopped with her hand to her side.
‘It gives me a stitch,’ she explained. ‘No odds. ‘Twill go away in London air. That’s the latest French step, child. René taught it me. D’you hate the French, chi—Una?’
‘Well, I hate French, of course, but I don’t mind Mam’selle. She’s rather decent. Is René your French governess?’
Philadelphia laughed till she caught her breath again.
‘Oh no! René’s a French prisoner—on parole. That means he’s promised not to escape till he has been properly exchanged for an Englishman. He’s only a doctor, so I hope they won’t think him worth exchanging. My Uncle captured him last year in the Ferdinand privateer, off Belle Isle, and he cured my Uncle of a r-r-raging toothache. Of course, after that we couldn’t let him lie among the common French prisoners at Rye, and so he stays with us. He’s of very old family—a Breton, which is nearly next door to being a true Briton, my father says—and he wears his hair clubbed—not powdered. Much more becoming, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know what you’re——’ Una began, but Puck, the other side of the pail, winked, and she went on with her milking.
‘He’s going to be a great French physician when the war is over. He makes me bobbins for my lace-pillow now—he’s very clever with his hands; but he’d doctor our people on the Green if they would let him. Only our Doctor—Dr. Break—says he’s an emp——or imp something—worse than impostor. But my Nurse says——’
‘Nurse! You’re ever so old. What have you got a nurse for?’ Una finished milking, and turned round on her stool as Kitty Shorthorn grazed off.