"What, the explorer?" I said.
She nodded.
"When he fell down that stupid cliff and killed himself, he left Grace absolutely unprovided for. It was just like poor Jack—a dear, delightful man, but quite hopeless about anything to do with money. I don't suppose he'd ever thought what would happen to Grace if he died. He took her away from school when she was about sixteen, and for the last three years before he was killed they'd been wandering about the world together in that absurd little ship of his, just as if she'd been a boy."
"Ah!" I said thoughtfully, for I was beginning to "smell land," as sailors put it.
"You see," went on Lady Bulstrode, "all Jack's income, such as it was, died with him, and there was nothing left for Grace except the copyright of his books. Well, goodness knows Grace isn't a girl who wants luxuries, but, all the same, you can't live on three volumes of travels, even if they have been praised by the Royal Geographical Society."
"It sounds rather indigestible," I admitted.
"And so," finished Lady Bulstrode triumphantly, "I persuaded her to come to me and help me look after Alan's children. Of course, she's much too good to be a governess all her life, but I mean to marry her to the first nice rich man who's got the sense to appreciate her. I've got one in my mind's eye now."
I suddenly conceived a violent dislike for this promisingly placed gentleman.
"I shouldn't think it would be difficult to fall in love with her," I remarked casually, "unless one has a rooted objection to girls being sunburned."
Lady Bulstrode laughed.