England -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
"Will you promise to keep it a secret?"
Miss Ingate nodded, smiling and showing her teeth. Her broad polished
forehead positively shone with kindly eagerness.
"Will you swear?"
Miss Ingate hesitated, and then nodded again.
"Then put your hand on my head and say, 'I swear.'"
Miss Ingate obeyed.
"I shall leave this house," said Audrey in a low voice.
"You won't, Audrey!"
"I'll eat my hand off if I've not left this house by to-morrow, anyway."
"To-morrow!" Miss Ingate nearly screamed. "Now, Audrey, do reflect. Think
what you are!"
Audrey bounded to her feet.
"That's what father's always saying," she exploded angrily. "He's always
telling me to examine myself. The fact is, I know too much about myself. I
know exactly the kind of girl it is who's going to leave this house.
Exactly!"
"Audrey, you frighten me. Where are you going to?"
"London."
"Oh! That's all right then. I am relieved. I thought perhaps you waited to
come to _my_ house. You won't get to London, because you haven't any
money."
"Oh, yes, I have. I've got a hundred pounds."
"Where?"
"Remember, you've sworn.... Here!" she cried suddenly, and drawing her hand
from behind her back she most sensationally displayed a crushed roll of
bank-notes.
"And who did you get those from?"
"I didn't get them from anybody. I got them out of father's safe. They're
his reserve. He keeps them right at the back of the left-hand drawer, and
he's so sure they're there that he never looks for them. He thinks he's a
perfect model, but really he's careless. There's a duplicate key to the
safe, you know, and he leaves it with a lot of other keys loose in his
desk. I expect he thought nobody would ever dream of guessing it was a key
of the safe. I know he never looked at this roll, because I've been opening
the safe every day for weeks past, and the roll was always the same. In
fact, it was dusty. Then to-day I decided to take it, and here you are! He
finished himself off yesterday, so far as I'm concerned, with the business
about the punt."
"But do you know you're a thief, Audrey?" breathed Miss Ingate, extremely
embarrassed, and for once somewhat staggered by the vagaries of human
nature.
"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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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