without making myself completely ridiculous. Instead, I said coldly,
‘Perhaps Melinda wouldn’t be so difficult and impatient of control if she felt she were loved and regarded with approval as a person.’
‘Am I to take it then that you lay Melinda’s misdemeanours at my door?’ he asked sardonically.
‘It’s no accident that she is obedient to you!’ I replied hotly.
‘The fact is that she hero-worships you and would do anything to win your approval.’
‘Perhaps!’ he said sardonically, ‘but she has a curious way of showing her devotion. It seems that during my absence she has been getting up to such pranks as frightening the staff at night in their quarters—a section of the house which she had no right to be in—and that it’s a wonder we have any staff at the moment. No, I’m afraid what Melinda needs is more of the companionship of children of her own age. Children usually stand no nonsense from one another and originally I own I had great hopes that society of Emile would work wonders for her. However, now that I’m better acquainted with the boy, I don’t see any hope of Melinda’s reformation from that quarter, for a more namby-pamby little prig than Emile it would be hard to find. If Melinda errs in being too positive, Emile swings decidedly to the negative as far as character is concerned ’
So he was contemptuous not only of Melinda but also of Emile, I thought angrily. In fact, was there anyone whom he respected?
His statement of the previous evening came back vividly to my mind, and I felt a wave of humiliation as I remembered it was this man I had begged to treat me with the same consideration ‘as if I were not in his employ.’ It was now only too clear that he had spoken the truth when he had replied that he respected no one, in his employ or out of it.
I would not repeat that mistake, I promised myself. I would not beg for myself—or for Melinda or Emile. My pleas for a more lenient attitude towards the children would fall on deaf ears, I felt sure.
‘When am I to begin my duties?’ I asked with a coldness that matched his own.
I was so certain that he would say I must begin immediately that I was quite taken aback when he replied, ‘Not for a day or two, apparently! According to Mrs. Kinnefer, who is a motherly soul, Emile is exhausted by his journey. It seems he was very sick on the Channel Ferry and must be allowed to rest for a day or so before he’s fit for the rigours of education.’
‘Oh!’ I found myself at a loss and without stopping to think, I said impulsively, ‘Then what am I to do for the next few days?’
He took up his pen and leaning back in his chair regarded me with boredom. ‘I’m sure you will be able to find ways of occupying your time if you really try. The moors spread for miles around. You ride, perhaps? If so, we could find you a suitable mount.’
Immediately I was struck by his assumption that I rode so badly that a special horse must be found for me —a particularly docile animal, was the implication. And I longed to be able to tell him, yes, that I rode—and like the wind too; that no animal was too headstrong for me to control; that I had cups for riding—as I had cups
for
swimming.
With
the
remembrance
of
this
accomplishment, I burst out impulsively, ‘No, I don’t ride, but I do swim, I should enjoy that.’
‘And where do you think you’re to swim?’ he asked.
‘In the cove, perhaps,’ I replied, slightly confused. ‘It’s so near to the house. It would be the most convenient place, I assume.’
‘Not unless you want to be drowned during your first few days here,’ he replied. ‘It’s obvious that you know nothing of our Cornish shores or you wouldn’t suggest such a thing.’
He had suggested binding a specially docile horse for me had I ridden, I thought angrily. Now he was suggesting something similar in connection with my swimming. Perhaps he thought that an especially safe cove would have to
‘Perhaps Melinda wouldn’t be so difficult and impatient of control if she felt she were loved and regarded with approval as a person.’
‘Am I to take it then that you lay Melinda’s misdemeanours at my door?’ he asked sardonically.
‘It’s no accident that she is obedient to you!’ I replied hotly.
‘The fact is that she hero-worships you and would do anything to win your approval.’
‘Perhaps!’ he said sardonically, ‘but she has a curious way of showing her devotion. It seems that during my absence she has been getting up to such pranks as frightening the staff at night in their quarters—a section of the house which she had no right to be in—and that it’s a wonder we have any staff at the moment. No, I’m afraid what Melinda needs is more of the companionship of children of her own age. Children usually stand no nonsense from one another and originally I own I had great hopes that society of Emile would work wonders for her. However, now that I’m better acquainted with the boy, I don’t see any hope of Melinda’s reformation from that quarter, for a more namby-pamby little prig than Emile it would be hard to find. If Melinda errs in being too positive, Emile swings decidedly to the negative as far as character is concerned ’
So he was contemptuous not only of Melinda but also of Emile, I thought angrily. In fact, was there anyone whom he respected?
His statement of the previous evening came back vividly to my mind, and I felt a wave of humiliation as I remembered it was this man I had begged to treat me with the same consideration ‘as if I were not in his employ.’ It was now only too clear that he had spoken the truth when he had replied that he respected no one, in his employ or out of it.
I would not repeat that mistake, I promised myself. I would not beg for myself—or for Melinda or Emile. My pleas for a more lenient attitude towards the children would fall on deaf ears, I felt sure.
‘When am I to begin my duties?’ I asked with a coldness that matched his own.
I was so certain that he would say I must begin immediately that I was quite taken aback when he replied, ‘Not for a day or two, apparently! According to Mrs. Kinnefer, who is a motherly soul, Emile is exhausted by his journey. It seems he was very sick on the Channel Ferry and must be allowed to rest for a day or so before he’s fit for the rigours of education.’
‘Oh!’ I found myself at a loss and without stopping to think, I said impulsively, ‘Then what am I to do for the next few days?’
He took up his pen and leaning back in his chair regarded me with boredom. ‘I’m sure you will be able to find ways of occupying your time if you really try. The moors spread for miles around. You ride, perhaps? If so, we could find you a suitable mount.’
Immediately I was struck by his assumption that I rode so badly that a special horse must be found for me —a particularly docile animal, was the implication. And I longed to be able to tell him, yes, that I rode—and like the wind too; that no animal was too headstrong for me to control; that I had cups for riding—as I had cups
for
swimming.
With
the
remembrance
of
this
accomplishment, I burst out impulsively, ‘No, I don’t ride, but I do swim, I should enjoy that.’
‘And where do you think you’re to swim?’ he asked.
‘In the cove, perhaps,’ I replied, slightly confused. ‘It’s so near to the house. It would be the most convenient place, I assume.’
‘Not unless you want to be drowned during your first few days here,’ he replied. ‘It’s obvious that you know nothing of our Cornish shores or you wouldn’t suggest such a thing.’
He had suggested binding a specially docile horse for me had I ridden, I thought angrily. Now he was suggesting something similar in connection with my swimming. Perhaps he thought that an especially safe cove would have to
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