“Yes, the shopman,” she laughed. “I gave him two shillings for them.” Then she took off her hat and, impaling it with a long pin, cast it heedlessly upon the table.
“It has not occupied seven hours to buy a bunch of violets,” I said ruthlessly. “Where have you been?”
Ella looked round laughing, and said in a quiet voice, “I have been to see a friend.”
“Another aunt—eh?” I asked, suspiciously.
She took a chair and sat down opposite; then, with her head leaning upon her hands, she said demurely, “Yes, it was an aunt.”
There was silence. Ella had picked up her bunch of violets, and every time I looked up she was watching me over them.
“Well,” I exclaimed at last, “where does this aunt live—at Highgate?”
“No, not that one. She is poor. She lives in Camberwell.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said, standing up suddenly.
Ella raised her eyebrows in interrogation. There was an ominous look in her blue eyes, and I put forth my hand to snatch the flowers and cast them into the fire. Instead, I sat down again and turned over another hundred pages of my Koran.