I'm going to look--"
"And what," inquired the Vicar with an even suaver irony, "_can_ you
do?"
"I can be somebody's secretary."
"Whose?"
"Oh," said Gwenda airily, "anybody's."
"And--if I may ask--what will you do, and where do you propose to
stay, while you're looking for him?" (He felt that he expressed
himself with perspicacity.)
"That's all arranged. I'm going to Mummy."
The Vicar was silent with the shock of it.
"I'm sorry, Papa," said Gwenda; "but there's nowhere else to go to."
"If you go there," said Mr. Cartaret, "you will certainly not come
back here."
All that had passed till now had been mere skirmishing. The real
battle had begun.
Gwenda set her face to it.
"I shall not be coming back in any case," she said.
"That question can stand over till you've gone."
"I shall be gone on Friday by the three train."
"I shall not allow you to go--by any train."
"How are you going to stop me?"
He had not considered it.
"You don't suppose I'm going to give you any money to go with?"
"You needn't. I've got heaps."
"And how are you going to get your luggage to the station?"
"Oh--the usual way."
"There'll be no way if I forbid Peacock to carry it--or you."
"Can you forbid Jim Greatorex? _He_'ll take me like a shot."
"I can put your luggage under lock and key."
He was still stern, though, he was aware that the discussion was
descending to sheer foolishness.
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