"Indeed? Why?"
"We asked----" Note the modern child. Not "Papa" or "Mamma," as a well-conducted little girl of the Victorian epoch would have said, but "we," ego et parentes--"we asked," replied Evadne, "General Lackaday down. And crossing our letter came one from Paris telling us he had left England for good. Isn't it rotten?"
"The General's a very good fellow," said I, "but I didn't know he was a flame of yours."
"Oh, you stupid!" cried Evadne, with a protesting tug at my arm "It's nothing to do with me. It s Aunt Auriol."
"Oh?" said I.
She shook her fair bobbed head. "As if you didn't know!"
"I'm not so senile," said I, "as not to grasp your insinuation, my dear. But I fail to see what business it is of ours."
"It's a family affair--oh, I forgot, you're not real family--only adopted." I felt humiliated. "Anyhow you're as near as doesn't matter." I brightened up again. "I've heard 'em talking it over--when they thought I wasn't listening. Father and mother and Charles. They're all potty over General Lackaday. And so's Aunt Auriol. I told you they had clicked ages ago."
"Clicked?"
"Yes. Don't you know English?"