"Oh, yes. Who could help being happy with Lady Bulstrode? She's the dearest, kindest, jolliest soul in the world, and I owe everything to her. Still, as you see, I don't always tell her the whole truth."
"No intelligent person ever tells the whole truth," I said reassuringly. "Half of it is quite enough, as a rule."
"I thought it was—about my holiday. You see, Lady Bulstrode would have been miserable if she had known that I had hired a boat and was camping out on an island by myself! Of course, it does sound rather a mad proceeding. But after wandering about with father all that time, I've got a sort of craving for the wilds, and now and then it gets so strong I simply can't resist it."
"I know, Astarte," I said. "I know."
"After all, there was no harm in it," she went on. "If you and Rufus hadn't turned up, no one would ever have been any the wiser. That did complicate matters."
"You make me feel like one of George's official explanations," I protested. "I'd have gone, you know, if you'd insisted on it."
She nodded.
"I didn't want you to go a bit. I was awfully glad to have someone to play with. You see, I thought I should never see you again, and that it wouldn't matter. You can imagine what I felt like when I found you were Mr. Heathcote."
"No," I said. "I wish I could. If it was anything like as——"
"I suppose George is your brother—Lord Mapleton?" she interrupted hastily.