“Gerald always does that with everybody. He’s the most gregarious person. How are you, Lothario?”
“Flourishing, my Belinda,” he replied, flinging his arms round Miss Ley’s neck to her great delight and pretended indignation.
“You’re irrepressible,” she said. “I expected to find you in sackcloth and ashes, penitent and silent.”
“My dear Aunt Polly, ask me to do anything you like, except to repent and to hold my tongue.”
“You know your mother has asked me to look after you.”
“I like being looked after—and is Bertha going to help?”
“I’ve been thinking it over,” added Miss Ley. “And the only way I can think to keep you out of mischief is to make you spend your evenings with me. So you’d better go home now and dress. I know there’s nothing you like better than changing your clothes.”
Meanwhile Bertha observed with astonishment that Gerald was simply devouring her with his eyes. It was impossible not to see his evident admiration.
“The boy must be mad,” she thought, but could not help feeling a little flattered.
“He’s been telling me some dreadful stories,” she said to Miss Ley, when he had gone. “I hope they’re not true.”