顺水推舟13

II

“Can’t you give it back, Mums?”

“Really, Lynn darling! I went straight to the bank with it. And then I paid Arthurs and

Bodgham and Knebworth. Knebworth was getting quite abusive. Oh, my dear, the relief! I

haven’t been able to sleep for nights and nights. Really, Rosaleen was most understanding and

nice about it.”

Lynn said bitterly:

“And I suppose you’ll go to her again and again now.”

“I hope it won’t be necessary, dear. I shall try to be very economical, you know that. But of

course everything is so expensive nowadays. And it gets worse and worse.”

“Yes, and we shall get worse and worse. Going on cadging¹.”

Adela flushed.

“I don’t think that’s a nice way of putting it, Lynn. As I explained to Rosaleen, we had

always depended on Gordon.”

“We shouldn’t have. That’s what’s wrong, we shouldn’t have,” Lynn added, “He’s

right to despise us.”

“Who despises us?”

“That odious² David Hunter.”

“Really,” said Mrs. Marchmont with dignity, “I don’t see that it can matter in the least

what David Hunter thinks. Fortunately he wasn’t at Furrowbank this morning—otherwise I dare

say he would have influenced that girl. She’s completely under his thumb, of course.”

Lynn shifted from one foot to the other.

“What did you mean, Mums, when you said—that first morning I was home—‘If he is her

brother?’”

“Oh, that.” Mrs. Marchmont looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, there’s been a certain

amount of gossip, you know.”

Lynn merely waited inquiringly. Mrs. Marchmont coughed.

“That type of young woman—the adventuress type (of course poor Gordon was completely

taken in)—they’ve usually got a—well, a young man of their own in the background. Suppose

she says to Gordon she’s got a brother—wires to him in Canada or wherever he was. This man

turns up. How is Gordon to know whether he’s her brother or not? Poor Gordon, absolutely

infatuated no doubt, and believing everything she said. And so her ‘brother’ comes with them

to England—poor Gordon quite unsuspecting.”

Lynn said fiercely:

“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it!”

Mrs. Marchmont raised her eyebrows³.

“Really, my dear—”

“He’s not like that. And she—she isn’t either. She’s a fool perhaps, but she’s sweet—

yes, she’s really sweet. It’s just people’s foul⁴ minds. I don’t believe it, I tell you.”

Mrs. Marchmont said with dignity:

“There’s really no need to shout.”

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