Captain Oliphant shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t equal to coping with a case of sheer infatuation.
“I’m sure,” persisted Jill, flicking the pony into a trot, “he’s fifty million times as nice as that horrible Mr Ratman.”
“Mr Ratman is a friend of mine,” said her father, “and I fear he must think you a very silly little girl to object to a bit of fun as you did.”
“I don’t mind what he thinks. It wasn’t fun at all. He hurt me very much. Ugh!”
“Well, he was very much annoyed, and so was I, at what happened; and when he comes here again next week—”
“Is he coming again next week?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I shall run away then—or if I can’t do that, I shall keep a knife in my pocket. Please, father, don’t let him come!”
And the child nearly cried in her eagerness.
“Listen to me, Jill,” said her father sternly. “Unless you can behave yourself sensibly I shall be very angry indeed. I expect you to be polite to Mr Ratman while he is here.”