Your father and I
have no idea of leaving Mudford at present."
"I want," Mary went on in the even tone of one hypnotised by a foregone
conclusion, "to go and live with Jennifer and write--things."
Mrs. Martin's gesture as she rose expressed as much horror as was
consistent with majesty.
"My dear Mary," she said coldly, "let me dispose of your outrageous
suggestion before it goes any further. You appear to imagine that because
you have been earning a couple of hundred a year in the Air Force during
the War you are still of independent means. Allow me to remind you that you
are not. Also that your father and I are unable and unwilling to bear the
expenses of two establishments. Please consider the matter closed."
She swept from the room. Mary whistled softly to herself, then she walked
to the desk and wrote a letter.
"... And that's that," she finished. "So now to business. I will send you
some articles at the end of the week, and for goodness' sake be quick,
because I can't stand this much longer."
When she had posted it she retired to her room and was no more seen till
dinner.
They were bright articles and, like measle-spots, they appeared rapidly
after ten days or a fortnight; unlike measles they seemed to be permanent.
They dealt irreverently with Mudford society, draped in a thin veil of some
alias material, and they signed themselves "Blight."
"Disgraceful!" snorted Colonel Martin, throwing one crumpled newspaper
after another into the waste-paper basket.
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