The Buccaneers Read Free Page A

wonder the darkly fringed eyes which shone like pale aquamarines on her small dusky face. “Me? A governess? Mercy, no—what for?”
    â€œThat’s what I say! My mother and Virginia have cooked it up between them. I’m going to have one next week.”
    â€œLand’s sake! You’re not? She’s coming here?”
    Nan nodded sulkily.
    â€œ Well— ” Conchita murmured.
    â€œWhat’ll I do about it—what would you?” Nan burst out, on the brink of tears.
    Miss Closson drew her lids together meditatively; then she stooped with deliberation to the poodle, and threw the ball for him again.
    â€œI said I’d kill her,” broke from Nan in a hoarse whisper.
    The other laughed. “I wouldn’t do that; not right off, anyhow. I’d get round her first.”
    â€œGet round her? How can I? I’ve got to do whatever she wants.”
    â€œNo, you haven’t. Make her want whatever you want.”
    â€œHow can I? Oh, can I call you Conchita? It’s such a lovely name. Mine’s Annabel, really, but everybody calls me Nan.... Well, but how can I get round that governess? She’ll try to make me learn lists of dates—that’s what she’s paid for.”
    Conchita’s expressive face became one grimace of disapproval. “Well, I should hate that like castor-oil. But perhaps she won’t. I knew a girl at Rio who had a governess, and she was hardly any older than the girl, and she used to ... well, carry messages and letters for her, the governess did ... and in the evening she used to slip out to ... to see a friend ... and she and the girl knew all each other’s secrets; so you see they couldn’t tell on each other, neither one of them couldn’t....”
    â€œOh, I see,” said Nan, with a feigned air of knowingness. But she was suddenly conscious of a queer sensation in her throat, almost of physical sickness. Conchita’s laughing eyes seemed whispering to her through half-drawn lids. She admired Conchita as much as ever—but she was not sure she liked her at that moment.
    Conchita was obviously not aware of having produced an unfavourable impression. “Out in Rio I knew a girl who got married that way. The governess carried her notes for her.... Do you want to get married?” she asked abruptly.
    Nan flushed and stared. Getting married was an inexhaustible theme of confidential talk between her sister and the Elmsworth girls; but she felt herself too young and inexperienced to take part in their discussions. Once, at one of the hotel dances, a young fellow called Roy Gilling had picked up her handkerchief, and refused to give it back. She had seen him raise it meaningly to his young moustache before he slipped it into his pocket; but the incident had left her annoyed and bewildered rather than excited, and she had not been sorry when, soon afterward, he rather pointedly transferred his attentions to Mabel Elmsworth. She knew Mabel Elmsworth had already been kissed behind a door; and Nan’s own sister, Virginia, had too, Nan suspected. She herself had no definite prejudices in the matter; she simply felt unprepared as yet to consider matrimonial plans. She stooped to stroke the poodle, and answered, without looking up: “Not to anybody I’ve seen yet.”
    The other considered her curiously. “I suppose you like love-making better, eh?” She spoke in a soft drawl, with a languid rippling of the “r”s.
    Nan felt her blood mounting again; one of her quick blushes steeped her in distress. Did she—didn’t she—like “love-making,” as this girl crudely called it (the others always spoke of it as flirting)? Nan had not been subjected to any warmer advances than Mr. Gilling’s, and the obvious answer was that she didn’t know, having had no experience of such matters; but she had the reluctance of youth to confess to its youthfulness, and she also