The Flowering Thorn Read Online Free Page B

her own, the only rational course was obviously to submit and pass the cake: and in the company of any two persons less purple and authoritative, Lesley would no doubt have done so. But the pop-eyed stupidity of Lady Chrome, the complacent imperviousness of Mrs. Bassington, had already produced their usual unfortunate effect; and raising her beautiful eyebrows, Lesley said provocatively,
    â€œIt would be such a new experience.…”
    Lady Chrome released a long breath.
    â€œBut—but you don’t even like children!’
    â€œNot in the least,” agreed Lesley. “That’s why it would be new.”
    â€œIn any case, the idea is impossible,” cut in Mrs. Bassington decisively.
    Her niece, however, was not so easily to be intimidated.
    â€œWhy, Aunt Alice?”
    â€œBecause you’re far too young, in the first place. You don’t know what you’re doing. People would say—would think—”
    â€œBut they do already, Aunt,” pointed out Lesley blandly. “When I went to Salzburg last year everyone thought I’d gone with Toby Ashton.”
    â€œLesley!”
    â€œBut unfortunately Toby is almost as dark as I am, so as long as he stays ginger it won’t look quite so bad.”
    From Lady Chrome’s bergère came a sound like a suffocating Pekingese. Mrs. Bassington, with greater self-command, merely pursed her lips and continued to pour out tea. And all at once, from being slightly amused, Lesley was irritated beyond endurance. She said coldly,
    â€œI’m perfectly serious, Aunt Alice.”
    â€œNonsense, my dear.”
    With a considerable effort Lesley controlled her temper. The impertinence of old women! A tie of blood, however thin, and how complacently they advanced to the limits of rudeness! Her resolve hardening, she said,
    â€œThere’s really no need for any more discussion. I quite understand your feelings, Aunt Alice, but unfortunately you don’t understand mine. It probably comes of—”
    For the first time Mrs. Bassington raised her voice.
    â€œMy dear, there’s no need to tell me what it comes of. I know. It comes of letting you have your own money at eighteen. Eighteen!” She took a fierce little sip of tea: over the rim of her cup her eyes popped angrily. “I said at the time it was ridiculous, but no one listened to me, and now this is the result. You think you can behave exactly as you please. You think you can fly in the face of convention and get applauded for doing it. Well, I shan’t waste any more breath trying to stop you. You’re ruining your life, my dear, but as you are no doubt preparing to tell me, it’s your own life to ruin.”
    She broke off, breathless and slightly mottled. Lesley smiled.
    â€œHow well you know me, darling!”
    â€œAnd don’t call me darling,” added Mrs. Bassington in parentheses. “It’s ridiculous, a meaningless trick and I won’t have it. You go your own headstrong way and then try to placate me by foolish endearments. You won’t think yourself, and you won’t let others think for you. I know exactly what your income is, my dear: a bare five hundred and fifty, and you spend every penny of it. What’s going to happen, may I ask, when the child goes to school?”
    Lesley thought rapidly. Then:
    â€œUncle Graham, darling,” she said; and with a secret enjoyment watched her aunt’s face. For old Graham Whittal was both wealthy and distinguished; and he had publicly referred to his sister-in-law as a pompous old busybody. “He’s a governor or something of Christ’s Hospital,” Lesley elaborated, “with two nominations. It’s one of the best schools in the country.”
    The riposte being unanswerable, Mrs. Bassington ignored it. Instead, she drew herself together and played her trump card.
    â€œVery well, my dear, since you’re so determined. But there’s one