"You seem to forget, Miss Ingate," said Audrey solemnly, "that Cousin
Caroline left me a legacy of two hundred pounds last year, and that I've
never seen a penny of it. Father absolutely declined to let me have the
tiniest bit of it. Well, I've taken half. He can keep the other half for
his trouble."

Miss Ingate's mouth stood open, and her eyes seemed startled.

"But you can't go to London alone. You wouldn't know what to do."

"Yes, I should. I've arranged everything. I shall wear my best clothes.
When I arrive at Liverpool Street I shall take a taxi. I've got three
addresses of boarding-houses out of the _Daily Telegraph_, and they're all
in Bloomsbury, W.C. I shall have lessons in shorthand and typewriting at
Pitman's School, and then I shall get a situation. My name will be
Vavasour."

"But you'll be caught."

"I shan't. I shall book to Ipswich first and begin again from there. Girls
like me aren't so easy to catch as all that."

"You're vehy cunning."

"I get that from mother. She's most frightfully cunning with father."

"Audrey," said Miss Ingate with a strange grin, "I don't know how I can sit
here and listen to you. You'll ruin me with your father, because if you go
I'm sure I shall never be able to keep from him that I knew all about it."