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Updated: June 11, 2025
Although I am enjoying life, I'm more excited than happy, and I don't sleep well. I dream horrid dreams about Mrs. Senter and Dick Burden, and about Ellaline, too, but I always laugh when I wake up. Thank you so much for telling me that you think I'm behaving pretty well, considering. But I wonder what you'll say in your next, after my last?
The fact is, there was a queer misunderstanding with which I won't bore you, but by which Ellaline was left behind at Tintagel, and I went back alone to fetch her, with the car. She was adorable, even unusually adorable, and I loved her horribly.
Far from it, as you shall hear. School breaks up to-morrow breaks into little blond and brunette bits, which will blow or drift off to their respective homes; and I should by this time be packing to visit the Despards, where I'm supposed to teach Mimi's young voice to soar, as compensation for holiday hospitality; but I'm not packing, because Ellaline Lethbridge has had an attack of nerves.
When I ventured to hope that the Dragon wasn't quite so scaly and taily as she painted him, she proved her point by telling me that he'd been censured lately in the English Radical papers for killing a lot of poor, defenceless Bengalese in cold blood. Somebody must have sent her the cuttings, for Ellaline hardly knows that newspapers exist.
Doesn't this account for everything that looked strange, and for all that appeared cold-hearted, almost cruel, in Sir Lionel to Ellaline, who had heard the wrong side of the story, certainly from Madame de Blanchemain a silly woman, I fancy and perhaps even from Madame de Maluet, whose favourite pupil Ellaline the First was?
That was blow number one, and could have been borne, without blow number two, which fell in the shape of a letter. It said that the wicked guardian was just about to start for home, and intended to pick up Ellaline on his way to England, as if she were a parcel labelled "to be kept till called for."
But I see no reason why you shouldn't send a letter to Graylees the last letter, I hope, which need ever be addressed to me as "Miss Ellaline Lethbridge." It will seem nice to get into my own name again! Rather like putting on comfortable shoes after tight ones that made blisters.
This was to soothe my amour propre; but, while I wonder whether the thing really is a gift suitable to my years, I long to lay it across the giver's back. He gave it to me before Ellaline, too. What an idiot I am to care! I can laugh, for my sense of humour hasn't yet jilted me, if my good sense has. But the laugh is on the wrong side of my mouth.
At least, I sang a few bars; and you ought to have seen Sir Lionel wheel round and look at me when he heard my voice. I never said anything to him about knowing how to sing, so he was surprised. "Why, you have quite a pretty voice, Ellaline!" said Mrs. Norton. "'Quite a pretty voice! I should say she had!" remarked Sir Lionel. He didn't say any more.
No, my dear one, there's little hope for me in that scheme. I allowed Ellaline to make my bed for me, and I must lie in it, although it has proved to be one of those nasty folding ones that will shut and swallow me up in a trap. No, it's cowardly to whine like that.
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