She was a pretty child, about the same age as Pen herself, but shorter, and much plumper. She had a profusion of nut-brown ringlets, a pair of fawn-like brown eyes, and a soft rosebud of a mouth. She was dressed in a white muslin dress, high-waisted, and frilled about the ankles, and with a great many pale-blue bows of ribbon with long fluttering ends. She raised her melting eyes to Pen’s face, and breathed: ‘Can I trust you?’
Miss Creed was a literal-minded female, and instead of responding with promptness and true chivalry, she replied cautiously: ‘Well, probably you can, but I am not sure till I know what it is that you want.’
Miss Daubenay seemed a little daunted for a moment, and said in a soft moan: ‘I am in such a taking! I have been very, very silly!’
Pen found no difficulty in believing this. She said: ‘Well, don’t stand there wringing your hands! Let us sit down under that tree.’
Lydia looked doubtful. ‘Will it not be damp?’
‘No, of course not! Besides, what if it were?’
‘Oh, the grass might stain my dress!’
‘It seems to me,’ said Pen severely, ‘that if you are bothering about your dress you cannot be in such great trouble.’
‘Oh, but I am!’ said Lydia, sinking down on to the turf, and clasping her hands at her bosom. ‘I do not know what you will say, or what you will think of me! I must have been mad!Only, you were kind to me last night, and I thought I could trust you!’
‘I dare say you can,’ said Pen. ‘But I wish you will tell me what is the matter, because I have not yet had any breakfast, and –’
‘If I had thought that you would be so unsympathetic I would never, never have sent for you!’ declared Lydia in tremulous accents.
‘Well, it is very difficult to be sympathetic when a person will do nothing but wring her hands, and say the sort of things there really is no answer to,’ said Pen reasonably. ‘Do start at the beginning!’
Miss Daubenay bowed her head. ‘I am the most unhappy creature alive!’ she announced. ‘I have the misfortune to be secretly betrothed to one whom my father will not tolerate.’
‘Yes, I thought you were. I suppose you went to meet him in the wood last night?’
‘Alas, it is true! But do not judge me hastily! He is the most unexceptionable – the most –’
‘If he is unexceptionable,’ interrupted Pen, ‘why won’t your father tolerate him?’
‘It is all wicked prejudice!’ sighed Lydia. ‘My father quarrelled with his father, and they don’t speak.’
‘Oh! What did they quarrel about?’
‘About a piece of land,’ said Lydia mournfully.
‘It sounds very silly.’
‘It is silly. Onlytheyare perfectly serious about it, and they do not care a fig foroursufferings! We have been forced to this hateful expedient of meeting in secret. I should tell you that my betrothed is thesoulof honour! Subterfuge is repugnant to him, but what can we do? We love each other!’
‘Why don’t you run away?’ suggested Pen practically.
Startled eyes leapt to hers. ‘Run where?’
‘To Gretna Green, of course.’
‘Oh, I could not! Only think of the scandal!’
‘I do think you should try not to be so poor-spirited. However, I dare say you can’t help it.’
‘You are the rudest boy I ever met!’ exclaimed Lydia, ‘I declare I wish I had not sent for you!’
‘So do I, because this seems to me a silly story, and not in the least my concern,’ said Pen frankly. ‘Oh, pray don’t start to cry! There, I am sorry! I didn’t mean to be unkind! But whydidyou send for me?’
‘Because, though you are rude and horrid, you did not seem to me like other young men, and I thought you would understand, and not take advantage of me.’
Pen gave a sudden mischievous chuckle. ‘I shan’t dothat,at all events! Oh dear, I am getting so hungry! Do tell me why you sent for me!’
