‘I don’t suppose you have the slightest notion who the young man really is?’ said her ladyship, with the air of a person who has made a grand discovery.
Bella threw a startled look at her aunt. ‘No—no—of course not. How should I?’ Then coaxingly: ‘But who is he, aunty dear?’
‘The son of a bishop, my dear.—What do you think of that?’
‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed the young girl with a gasp, as well she might. ‘But how did you find that out, aunt?’
‘You remember that he told us his name was Mr Golightly?’
Bella nodded assent.
‘Well, on reaching the hotel I asked to see the Clergy List, where I found that the only Golightly mentioned there is the Bishop of Melminster. It’s by no means a common name, and this young man must be the bishop’s son. I’ve not a doubt of it in my own mind.’
Lady Renshaw had evidently a fine faculty for leaping to conclusions from very insufficient data.
‘O aunt, how clever you are!’ was the comment of the wicked Bella.
‘That’s as it may be, my dear,’ was the complacent answer. ‘What are our brains given us for but to make proper use of them.’