"who are they? i never heard of them."
"they came after you left."
"to which farm?"
"oh, not very far away, i believe!"
"i wonder pamela didn't tell me all that in her letter. which farm can it possibly be? surely not heathlands?"
"i believe that was the name."
"then have the marstons gone?"
"yes, to the north island."[pg 153]
"oh! i'm very sorry. why didn't they write to me? did you hear any other news, please?"
"pamela told me something about your home."
a shadow crossed rona's face.
"is it—is it mrs. barker?" she asked nervously.
"yes, it's about her."
"what has she been doing?"
"getting married again."
"oh! oh! who would have her?"
"your father."
"no!" shrieked rona, her eyes ablaze. "it can't be! that dreadful, drinking woman! oh, i can't—i won't believe it!"
"she's your stepmother now, whether you like it or not."
"daddy! daddy! it can't be! how could you? you knew she drank!"
"he's drinking himself—like a fish."
"no! my daddy?"
rona, a moment ago furious, had turned white as a ghost. she put out a trembling hand and clutched the piano blindly; then, with a pitiful, broken cry, she fell, half-fainting, half-sobbing, on to the floor. at that moment ulyth, with her music-case, entered the room.
"what's the matter? rona! rona, dear! are you ill? who are these—people?"
she might well ask, for the behaviour of the two strangers was most unprecedented. they were leaning on each other's shoulders and roaring with laughter. one of them suddenly threw up her[pg 154] hat, and turned down her collar, revealing the familiar features of stephanie radford.
"done you brown!" she exploded. "paid you back in your own coin for your precious eau de venus sell! i'm even with you now, rona mitchell! come along, beth." and the pair disappeared, guffawing.
rona picked herself up shakily, and subsided on to a chair, with her face in her hands.
"it's not true then?" she quavered.
"what isn't true?"
"they told me dad had married mrs. barker, and that he was—drinking!"
"stephanie told you that?"
"yes. oh, i'm queer still!"
"rona, darling, of course it's nothing but a black, wicked lie. don't cry so. there isn't a word of truth about it. they were only ragging you. oh, don't take it so hard! i'll settle with stephanie for this."
half an hour afterwards a very grim, determined ulyth, supported by lizzie lonsdale, sought out the masqueraders and spoke her mind.
"she ragged me, so why shouldn't i turn the tables on her? it's nothing to make such a hullabaloo about!" yapped stephanie.
"but it is. the trick she played on you was only fun after all. yours was the cruellest thing you could think of to hurt and wound her. you may pride yourself on your family, stephanie radford, but i'm sure the very commonest person would have had nicer feelings than to do this. i[pg 155] can never think the same of you and beth again."
"oh, of course you take up the cudgels for your precious cuckoo!" snapped stephanie. "don't make such an absurd fuss. i shall do what i like, without you setting yourself up to lecture me. so there! if you don't like it, you may lump it."
"not a very aristocratic form of expression for a scion of the radfords of stoke radford!" commented lizzie, as she and ulyth stalked away.
