Three
or four years ago, when I was a child, mother and I, unhappy at Ghent
and an annoyance to father, came here to live in the castle, and--and--I
wonder what Sir Max and Twonette find to talk about--and Twonette and I
became friends. I love Twonette dearly, but she is a sly creature, for
all she is so demure, and she is bolder than you would think, Sir Karl.
These very demure girls are often full of surprises. She has been
sitting there in the shadow with Sir Max for half an hour. That, I say,
would be bold in any girl. Well, to finish about the staircase: my
bedroom, as I told you, was my grandfather's. One day Twonette was
visiting me, and we--we--Sir Max, what in the world are you and Twonette
talking about? We can't hear a word you say."
"We can't hear what you are saying," retorted Max.
"I wish you were young, Sir Karl," whispered Yolanda, "so that I might
make him jealous."
"Shall we come to you?" asked Max.
"No, no, stay where you are," cried Yolanda; then, turning to me, "Where
did I stop?"
"Your bedroom--" I suggested.
"Yes--my bedroom was my grandfather's. One day I had Twonette in to play
with me, and we rummaged every nook and corner we could reach. By
accident we discovered the movable panel. We pushed it aside, and
spurring our bravery by daring each other, we descended the dark
stairway step by step until we came suddenly against the oak panel at
the foot. We grew frightened and cried aloud for help. Fortunately,
Tante Castleman was on the opposite side of the panel in the oak room,
and--and--"
She had been halting in the latter part of her narrative and I plainly
saw what was coming.
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