A Very Naughty Girl. Meade L. T.
Leeson. I live three miles from here, but I adore the Castle. I should like to come here often.”
“You adore it! Then that is because you know nothing about it. Do you adore Audrey?”
“Is Audrey the young lady of the Castle?”
“She is not the young lady of the Castle. I am the young lady of the Castle. But have you ever seen her?”
“Once; and then she was rude to me.”
“Ah! I thought so. I don’t think she could be very polite to anybody. Now, suppose you and I become friends? The Castle belongs to me – or will when Uncle Ned dies. I can order people to come or people to go; and I order you to come. You shall come up to the house with me. You shall have lunch with me; you shall really. I have got a lovely suite of rooms – a bedroom of blue-and-silver and a little sitting-room for my own use; and you shall come there, and Jasper shall serve us both. Do you know that you are sweetly pretty? – just like a gipsy. You are lovely! Will you come with me now? Do! come at once.”
Sylvia laughed. She looked full at Evelyn; then she said abruptly:
“May I ask you a very straight question?”
“I love straight questions,” replied Evelyn.
“Can you give me a right, good, big lunch? Do you know that I am very hungry? Were you ever very hungry?”
“Oh, sometimes,” replied Evelyn, staring very hard at her. “I lived on a ranch, you know – or perhaps you don’t know.”
“I don’t know what a ranch is.”
“How funny! I thought everybody knew. You see, I am not English; I am Tasmanian. My father was an Englishman, but he died when I was a little baby, and I lived with mothery – the sweetest, the dearest, the darlingest woman on earth – on a ranch in Tasmania. Mothery is dead, and I have come here, and all the place will belong to me – not to Audrey – some day. Yes, I was hungry when we went on long expeditions, which we used to do in fine weather, but there was always something handy to eat. I have heard of people who are hungry and there is nothing handy to eat. Do you belong to that sort?”
“Yes, to that sort,” said Sylvia, nodding. “I will tell you about myself presently. Yes, take me to the house, please. I know he will be angry when he knows it, but I am going all the same.”
“Who is he?”
“I will tell you about him when you know the rest. Take me to the house, quick. I was there once before, on New Year’s Day, when every one – every one has a right to come. I hope you will keep up that splendid custom when you get the property. I ate a lot then. I longed to take some for him, but it was the rule that I must not do that. I told him about it afterwards: game-pie, two helpings; venison pasty, two ditto.”
“Oh, that is dull!” interrupted Evelyn. “Have you not forgotten yet about a lunch you had some days ago?”
“You would not if you were in my shoes,” said Sylvia. “But come; if we stay talking much longer some one will see us and prevent me from going to the house with you.”
“I should like to find the person who could prevent me from doing what I like to do!” replied Evelyn. “Come, Sylvia, come.”
Evelyn took the tall, dark girl’s hand, and they both set to running, and entered the house by the side entrance. They had the coast clear, as Evelyn expressed it, and ran up at once to her suite of rooms. Jasper was not in; the rooms were empty. They ran through the bedroom and found themselves in the beautifully furnished boudoir. A fire was blazing on the hearth; the windows were slightly open; the air, quite mild and fresh – for the day was like a spring one – came in at the open casement. Evelyn ran and shut it, and then turned and faced her companion.
“There!” she said. She came close up to Sylvia, and almost whispered, “Suppose Jasper brings lunch for both of us up here? She will if I command her. I will ring the bell and she’ll come. Would you not like that?”
“Yes, I’d like it much – much the best,” said Sylvia. “I am afraid of Lady Frances. And Miss Audrey can be very rude. She was very chuff with me on New Year’s Day.”
“She won’t be chuff with you in my presence,” said Evelyn. “Ah! here comes Jasper.”
Jasper, looking slightly excited, now appeared on the scene.
“Well, my darling!” she said. She rushed up to Evelyn and clasped her in her arms. “Oh, my own sweet Eve, and how are you getting on?” she exclaimed. “I am thinking this is not the place for you.”
“We will talk of that another time, please, Jasper,” said Evelyn, with unwonted dignity. “I have brought a friend to lunch with me. This young lady is called Miss Sylvia Leeson, and she is awfully hungry, and we’d both like a big lunch in this room. Can you smuggle things up, Jasper?”
“Her ladyship will be mad,” exclaimed Jasper. “I was told in the servants’ hall that she was downright annoyed at your not going to breakfast; if you are not at lunch she will move heaven and earth.”
“Let her; it will be fun,” said Evelyn. “I am going to lunch here with my friend Sylvia Leeson. Bring a lot of things up, Jasper – good things, rich things, tempting things; you know what sort I like.”
“I’ll try if there is a bit of pork and some mincepies and plum-pudding and cream and such-like down-stairs. And you’d fancy your chocolate, would you not?”
“Rather! Get all you can, and be as quick as ever you can.”
Jasper accordingly withdrew, and in a short time appeared with a laden tray in her hands.
“I had to run the gauntlet of the footman and the butler too; and what they will tell Lady Frances goodness knows, but I do not,” answered Jasper. “But there, if things have to come to a crisis, why, they must. You will not forget me when the storm breaks, will you, Evelyn?”
“I’ll never forget you,” said Evelyn, with enthusiasm. “You are the dearest and darlingest thing left now that mothery is in heaven; and Sylvia will love you too. I have been telling her all about you. – Now, Sylvia, you will not be hungry long.”
CHAPTER VII. – STAYING TO DINNER
Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. Lady Frances looked round: Audrey was in her place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away; the Squire took the foot of the table; the servants handed round the different dishes; but still no Evelyn had put in an appearance.
“I wonder where she can be,” said the Squire. “She looked a little wild and upset when she left me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I feel very sorry for her.”
“More than I do,” said Lady Frances, who at the same time had an uncomfortable remembrance of the look Evelyn had given her when she had left her presence. “Don’t let us talk any more about her now, Edward,” she said to her husband. “There is only one thing to be done for the child, and that I will tell you by and by.”
The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife’s wishes on all occasions, and he said nothing further. Audrey felt constrained and uncomfortable. After a slight hesitation she said:
“Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been expecting her to join me the whole morning. She does not, of course, know about our rules yet.”
“No, Audrey,” said her mother; “I prefer that you should not leave the table. – Miss Sinclair, perhaps you will oblige me. Will you go to Evelyn’s room and tell her that we are at lunch?”
Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for about five minutes. When she came back there was a distressed look on her face.
“Well, Jenny, well?” said Audrey in a voice of suppressed excitement. “Is she coming?”
“I think not,” said Miss Sinclair. – “I will explain matters to you, Lady Frances, afterwards.”
“Dear, dear!” said the Squire. “What a lot of explanations