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Updated: June 16, 2025
It was one of those where you walk into a kind of drawing-room with figurines, or whatever you call them slender, headless ladies in model dresses grouped about, and other equally slender, but long-headed ladies in black satin trains, showing off their dummy sisters. It was the figurines that intoxicated me. I saw Ellaline's head in imagination coming out at the top of all the prettiest dresses.
I should rather have liked to watch Ellaline's face as she climbed the hill, her feet light on yielding grass, where the gold of buttercups and turquoise of harebells lay scattered as she climbed, and as she reached the top, to see England spread under her eyes like a great ring. But that privilege was Burden's. I hope he appreciated it. Mine was to escort Mrs. Senter. I was glad she didn't chat.
Whether or not he really meant to do his worst, if I wouldn't give in, I can't be sure, but he looked as obstinate as six pigs, and I didn't dare risk Ellaline's future.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid his opinion of her may matter in a mercenary way, for I have heard the whole story I believe the true story of Ellaline's mother and father, as connected with Sir Lionel's past. Mrs. Senter told it, and enjoyed telling it, because she thought it would depress and take the spirit out of me.
But Mr. Burden advised me that I would be wise to accept him as my partner if I didn't want the business to fail. "What have I done to you, that you should interfere?" I wanted to know, only I didn't dare actually didn't dare, for Ellaline's sake, to speak angrily. Oh, I did feel like a worm's paper doll! "You've made me like you, awfully," he said.
Proud that her sister's school had moulded a celebrity, Mademoiselle chatted away about Ellaline, saying what a dear child she was, how sorry Madame was to part from her, and how Madame de Blanchemain, Ellaline's chère marraine, at St. Cloud, must be missing her mignonne at this very moment. It goes without saying that Mr. Dick's next step took him at a single stride to St. Cloud.
It must have seemed funny to him, my saying that about the trunks, as Ellaline's mother died when E. was four. He hadn't much luggage, either; no golf clubs, or battle-axes, or whatever you play about with in Bengal when you aren't terrorizing the natives. He sent the brown servant off in one cab with our things, and put me in another, into which he also mounted.
Once I shouldn't have believed I could be sorry to have my "principal" arrive and take back her own part; but now, if it weren't for Dick Burden, it would actually be a temptation to me to delay Ellaline's appearance on the scene. Of course, I wouldn't be such a wicked wretch as to yield to the temptation, but I should feel it.
With all the guilty tremors of one who cooks an intrigue, I sent a note to Ellaline's room, just after she had gone to bed, asking if she were "sporting enough" to come for a walk at seven-thirty. I thought that way of putting the invitation would fetch her, and it did; but perhaps a card I enclosed had something to do with her prompt acceptance.
Yesterday after arriving, Emily clamoured for tea, so we attempted no further sightseeing, but drove straight to this delightful old hotel, which was once a nunnery, and has still the nunnery garden, loved by the more enterprising of cathedral rooks. Or are they the nuns come back in disguise? This, you'll guess, is Ellaline's idea.
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