Free The Truant Spirit by Sara Seale Page A

of the unsophisticated with his brusque manner and his dark, disagreeable looks. If Madame could see - if Madame could only know of the risk to her plans, she would not tolerate such a situation for one moment ...
    At last Marthe brought herself to write, but before a reply could reach her Bunny had already received her own, and by the same post came, also, a letter for Sabina.
    Bunny read hers composedly, conscious of the girl s eyes upon her.
    “It’s all right,” she said at last, and passed the letter on to Brock. “Now read your own.”
    Sabina unfolded the pages carefully. Even after reassurance she could not believe that Tante’s letter would not be full of reproaches, but it was couched in the most effusive phrases. She was enchanted, she wrote, that her dear niece should remain in the care of her old friend Mademoiselle Bunson ... She was concerned for the health of her little one and country air was indubitably the best thing for her ... M. Bergerac, who was taking a cure nearby, helas! was in complete agreement with the arrangement ... Sabina was to be guided by Madame until her return, which would not be immediately, for M. Bergerac had amiably extended his invitation to an indefinite date ...
    “Well!” said Sabina, looking quite bewildered, “Tante must have a very high regard for you, Bunny, and M. Bergerac, too. Had you met him?”
    “He knows of me,” Bunny replied. “Well now, Sabina, my dear, you need have no further fears. Now it is your business to grow strong and well and—and learn to play a little, too, I think.”
    “Play?” Sabina repeated, reflecting that such things must be long since done with. “Poor M. Bergerac, she added, “He is taking a cure. It seems to me, Bunny, that he must be rather sickly, for Tante told me long ago that he suffers from ill-health and cannot lead a full life.”
    “And doesn’t that put you off?” asked Brock, folding the
    sheets of Tante’s other letter and handing them back to Bunny.
    “Well, I would like to know the nature of his illness,” said Sabina seriously, then she caught the familiar derision in his eyes and blushed.
    “Tante would not let me marry someone with a serious complaint, Mr. Brockman,” she said with her nose in the air, and Bunny frowned reprovingly.
    “Well spoken,” she said. “And Brock, you mustn’t tease. If Sabina is to be my guest for a little while, you will have to learn tolerance.”
    “I will retort with your own words, Bunny—well spoken!” he said with mock solemnity. “And if Sabina and I are both to be guests under your roof, she had better start calling me Brock and establish an armed truce. I don’t think she likes me very much.”
    “Why should she?” Bunny retorted. “Your manner isn’t always encouraging.”
    He made no attempt to put the girl at ease, but said directly:
    “You don’t like me very much, do you, Sabina?” She felt herself flushing as she met his ironical gaze. “Like” was a negative word when applied to such a personality and he would not care either way, she thought. She looked away to hide the confusion which must lie in her eyes, and took refuge in a childish dignity.
    “I don’t know you, Mr. Brockman,” she answered sedately, and Bunny smiled involuntarily, while Brock himself bowed to her gravely and murmured, “Touche ...”
    CHAPTER FOUR
    SABINA took a mischievous delight in acquainting Marthe of her aunt’s decision, but she was unprepared for the torrent of abuse she received in return.
    “Ha!” the woman exclaimed when she had finished reading Tante’s letter to be convinced with her own eyes that Sabina was speaking the truth. “And why is there no mention of M. Brockman?”
    “Why should there be?” asked Sabina with surprise. “Tante doesn’t know him.”
    “And Madame la gouvernante took pains to make no mention of him herself! Do you think, mam’zelle, that if Madame, your aunt, knew of this man’s presence here, and of the fashion in