"Well, in a way that explains everything. You see, I spent three
years with father before he was killed, and the whole of that time we
were either sailing about in the _Hyacinth_, or else making little
expeditions into places like Patagonia or New Guinea. You can
imagine what effect a life like that would have on a girl of
seventeen. By the time I was twenty I'd almost forgotten that there
was any other way of living except in a ship or in a tent. As for
wanting anything else," she shrugged her shoulders, "I don't suppose
two people have ever been happier together than father and I were."
For a moment she paused.
"Then," she went on, a little wearily, "he was killed. I can't tell
you what that time meant to me. You see, somehow or other I had
never thought of life without him. He was so strong and brave and
splendid, it seemed impossible that he could die like other people.
I was trying to think things out, trying to make up my mind what to
do, when Lady Bulstrode wrote to me and asked me to come here. So I
came, and here I've been ever since."
"And you've been--been happy?" I asked, for want of a better word.
"Oh, yes. Who could help being happy with Lady Bulstrode? She's the
dearest, kindest, jolliest soul in the world, and I owe everything to
her. Still, as you see, I don't always tell her the whole truth."
"No intelligent person ever tells the whole truth," I said
reassuringly. "Half of it is quite enough, as a rule."
"I thought it was--about my holiday. You see, Lady Bulstrode would
have been miserable if she had known that I had hired a boat and was
camping out on an island by myself! Of course, it does sound rather
a mad proceeding. But after wandering about with father all that
time, I've got a sort of craving for the wilds, and now and then it
gets so strong I simply can't resist it."
"I know, Astarte," I said. "I know."
"After all, there was no harm in it," she went on. "If you and Rufus
hadn't turned up, no one would ever have been any the wiser. That
did complicate matters."
"You make me feel like one of George's official explanations," I
protested. "I'd have gone, you know, if you'd insisted on it."
She nodded.
"I didn't want you to go a bit. I was awfully glad to have someone
to play with. You see, I thought I should never see you again, and
that it wouldn't matter. You can imagine what I felt like when I
found you were Mr. Heathcote."
"No," I said. "I wish I could. If it was anything like as----"
"I suppose George is your brother--Lord Mapleton?" she interrupted
hastily.
"You're right," I replied. "Though George wouldn't be pleased at
your way of putting it."
She made a pretty little gesture with her hands.
"Well," she said, "it can't be helped." Then she looked up smiling.
"We must just forget all about it," she added.