The Malefactor [52]
my dear, certainly!"
"Can you tell me how it is that I have had no answer?"
Mr. Pengarth coughed. He was not at all comfortable.
"Your guardian, Miss Juliet, is somewhat eccentric," he answered, "and he is a very busy man."
"Can you tell me, Mr. Pengarth, exactly what relation he is to me?"
There was a dead silence. Mr. Pengarth found the room suddenly warm, and mopped his forehead with a large silk handkerchief.
"I have no authority," he declared, "to answer any questions."
"Then can you tell me of your own accord," she said, "why there is all this mystery? Why may I not know who he is, why may I not write to him? Am I anything to be ashamed of, that he will not trust me even with his name? I am tired of accepting so much and not being able to offer even my thanks in return. It is too much like charity! I have made up my mind that if this is to go on, I will go away and earn my own living! There, Mr. Pengarth!"
"Rubbish!" he exclaimed briskly. "What at?"
"Painting!" she declared triumphantly. "I have had this in my mind for some time, and I have been trying to see what I can do best. I have quite decided, now, to be an artist."
"Pictures," he declared sententiously, "don't sell!"
"Mine do," she answered, smiling. "I have had a check for three guineas from a shop in London for a little sea piece I did in two afternoons!"
He regarded her admiringly.
"You are a wonderful child!" he exclaimed.
"I am not a child at all," she interrupted warmly, "and you can just sit down and write to your silly client and tell him so."
"I will certainly write to him," he affirmed. "I will do so today. You will not do anything rash until I have had time to get a reply?"
"No!" she answered graciously. "I will wait for a week. After that--well, I might do anything!"
"You wouldn't leave Tredowen, Miss Juliet!" he protested.
"It would break my heart, of course," she declared, "but I would do it and trust to time to heal it up again. Tredowen seems like home to me, but it isn't really, you know. Some day, Sir Wingrave Seton may want to come back and live there himself. Are you quite certain, Mr. Pengarth, that he won't be angry to hear that we have been living at the house all this time?"
"Certain," Mr. Pengarth declared firmly. "He left everything entirely in my hands. He did not wish me to let it, but he did not care about its being altogether uninhabited. The arrangement I was able to make with your guardian was a most satisfactory one."
"But surely he will come back himself some time?" she asked,
The lawyer shook his head sorrowfully.
"I am afraid," he said, "that Sir Wingrave has no affection for the place whatever."
"No affection for Tredowen," she repeated wonderingly. "Do you know what I think, Mr. Pengarth? I think that it is the most beautiful house in the world!"
"And yet you talk of leaving it."
"I don't want to go," she answered, "but I don't want to be accepting things all my life from someone whose name even I do not know."
"Well, well," he said, "you must wait until I have written my letter. Time enough to talk about that later on. Now, if you won't stay to lunch, you must come and see Rachael and have some cake and a glass of wine."
"How sweet of you," she exclaimed. "I'm frightfully hungry. Can I do anything to stop growing, Mr. Pengarth? I'm getting taller and taller!"
She stood up. She was head and shoulders taller than the little lawyer, slim as a lath, and yet wonderfully graceful. She laughed down at him and made a little grimace.
"I'm a giraffe, am I not?" she declared; "and I'm still growing. Do show me your garden, Mr. Pengarth. I want to see your hollyhocks. Everyone is talking about them."
They were joined in a few minutes by a prim, dignified little lady, ridiculously like Mr. Pengarth, whom he called sister, and she Miss Rachael. Juliet walked down the garden between them.
"Sister," Mr. Pengarth said, "Juliet has come today to see me on business. In effect, she has come to remind me that she is grown up."
"Grown up," Miss Rachael
"Can you tell me how it is that I have had no answer?"
Mr. Pengarth coughed. He was not at all comfortable.
"Your guardian, Miss Juliet, is somewhat eccentric," he answered, "and he is a very busy man."
"Can you tell me, Mr. Pengarth, exactly what relation he is to me?"
There was a dead silence. Mr. Pengarth found the room suddenly warm, and mopped his forehead with a large silk handkerchief.
"I have no authority," he declared, "to answer any questions."
"Then can you tell me of your own accord," she said, "why there is all this mystery? Why may I not know who he is, why may I not write to him? Am I anything to be ashamed of, that he will not trust me even with his name? I am tired of accepting so much and not being able to offer even my thanks in return. It is too much like charity! I have made up my mind that if this is to go on, I will go away and earn my own living! There, Mr. Pengarth!"
"Rubbish!" he exclaimed briskly. "What at?"
"Painting!" she declared triumphantly. "I have had this in my mind for some time, and I have been trying to see what I can do best. I have quite decided, now, to be an artist."
"Pictures," he declared sententiously, "don't sell!"
"Mine do," she answered, smiling. "I have had a check for three guineas from a shop in London for a little sea piece I did in two afternoons!"
He regarded her admiringly.
"You are a wonderful child!" he exclaimed.
"I am not a child at all," she interrupted warmly, "and you can just sit down and write to your silly client and tell him so."
"I will certainly write to him," he affirmed. "I will do so today. You will not do anything rash until I have had time to get a reply?"
"No!" she answered graciously. "I will wait for a week. After that--well, I might do anything!"
"You wouldn't leave Tredowen, Miss Juliet!" he protested.
"It would break my heart, of course," she declared, "but I would do it and trust to time to heal it up again. Tredowen seems like home to me, but it isn't really, you know. Some day, Sir Wingrave Seton may want to come back and live there himself. Are you quite certain, Mr. Pengarth, that he won't be angry to hear that we have been living at the house all this time?"
"Certain," Mr. Pengarth declared firmly. "He left everything entirely in my hands. He did not wish me to let it, but he did not care about its being altogether uninhabited. The arrangement I was able to make with your guardian was a most satisfactory one."
"But surely he will come back himself some time?" she asked,
The lawyer shook his head sorrowfully.
"I am afraid," he said, "that Sir Wingrave has no affection for the place whatever."
"No affection for Tredowen," she repeated wonderingly. "Do you know what I think, Mr. Pengarth? I think that it is the most beautiful house in the world!"
"And yet you talk of leaving it."
"I don't want to go," she answered, "but I don't want to be accepting things all my life from someone whose name even I do not know."
"Well, well," he said, "you must wait until I have written my letter. Time enough to talk about that later on. Now, if you won't stay to lunch, you must come and see Rachael and have some cake and a glass of wine."
"How sweet of you," she exclaimed. "I'm frightfully hungry. Can I do anything to stop growing, Mr. Pengarth? I'm getting taller and taller!"
She stood up. She was head and shoulders taller than the little lawyer, slim as a lath, and yet wonderfully graceful. She laughed down at him and made a little grimace.
"I'm a giraffe, am I not?" she declared; "and I'm still growing. Do show me your garden, Mr. Pengarth. I want to see your hollyhocks. Everyone is talking about them."
They were joined in a few minutes by a prim, dignified little lady, ridiculously like Mr. Pengarth, whom he called sister, and she Miss Rachael. Juliet walked down the garden between them.
"Sister," Mr. Pengarth said, "Juliet has come today to see me on business. In effect, she has come to remind me that she is grown up."
"Grown up," Miss Rachael