She rose to her feet.
“Then I’ll have to write him a note,” she said. “But it’ll never do to mention poor Septimus.”
She crossed to the writing-table and began nibbling her pen.
“Of course it’s rather difficult,” she said, “to know what to tell him.”
I bowed again, a trifle grimly perhaps.
“The way of transgressors,” I reminded her, “is seldom easy.”
“No, I suppose not,” she said. “How clever you are. Aren’t they frightfully proud of you at home?”
“I trust,” I said, “that I have deserved their affection.”
“Oh, I’m sure of it,” she replied. “Now let me see.”
She frowned for a moment and then began writing in a peculiarly large and childish hand.