Part 42

“The sect makes no difference,” I observed. “Well, my sisters, like good girls, began to repeat the irregular verbs. But it was no use. We were discovered. That night, Miss Phyllis, I nearly drowned myself.”

“You must have been--Oh, how awful, Mr. Carter!”

“That is to say, I thought how effective it would be if I drowned myself. Ah, well, it couldn’t last!”

“And the governess?”

“She left next morning.”

There was a pause. Miss Phyllis looked sad and thoughtful; I smiled pensively and beat my cane against my leg.

“Have you ever seen her since?” asked Miss Phyllis.

“No.”

“Shouldn’t--shouldn’t you like to, Mr. Carter?”

“Heaven forbid!” said I.

Suddenly Mrs. Hilary pushed back her chair, and turned round to us.

“Well, I declare,” said she, “I must be growing stupid. Here have I been writing to the Agency, when I know of the very thing myself! The Polwheedles’ governess is just leaving them; she’s been there over fifteen years. Lady Polwheedle told me she was a treasure. I wonder if she’d go!”

“Is she what mamma wants?”

“My dear, you’ll be most lucky to get her. I’ll write at once and ask her to come to lunch tomorrow. I met her there. She’s an admirable person.”

Mrs. Hilary wheeled round again. I shook my head at Miss Phyllis.

“Poor children!” said I. “Manage a bit of fun for them sometimes.”

Miss Phyllis assumed a staid and virtuous air.

“They must be properly brought up, Mr. Carter,” said she.

“Is there a House Opposite?” I asked; and Miss Phyllis blushed.

Mrs. Hilary advanced, holding out a letter.

“You may as well post this for me,” said she. “Oh, and would you like to come to lunch tomorrow?”

“To meet the Paragon?”

“No. She’ll be there, of course; but you see it’s Saturday, and Hilary will be here; and I thought you might take him off somewhere and leave Phyllis and me to have a quiet talk with her.”

“That won’t amuse her much,” I ventured to remark.

“She’s not coming to be amused,” said Mrs. Hilary severely.

“All right; I’ll come,” said I, taking my hat.

“Here’s the note for Miss Bannerman,” said Mrs. Hilary.

That sort of thing never surprises me. I looked at the letter and read “Miss M. E. Bannerman.” “M. E.” stood for “Maud Elizabeth.” I put my hat back on the table.