His denial of any knowledge of such a person
was met with an outburst of bitter laughter.
"How well you have learned your lesson!" exclaimed Mrs. Heasant. But
satire gave way to furious indignation when she realised that Bertie did
not intend to throw any further light on her discovery.
"You shan't have any dinner till you've confessed everything," she
stormed.
Bertie's reply took the form of hastily collecting material for an
impromptu banquet from the larder and locking himself into his bedroom.
His mother made frequent visits to the locked door and shouted a
succession of interrogations with the persistence of one who thinks that
if you ask a question often enough an answer will eventually result.
Bertie did nothing to encourage the supposition. An hour had passed in
fruitless one-sided palaver when another letter addressed to Bertie and
marked "private" made its appearance in the letter-box. Mrs. Heasant
pounced on it with the enthusiasm of a cat that has missed its mouse and
to whom a second has been unexpectedly vouchsafed. If she hoped for
further disclosures assuredly she was not disappointed.
"So you have really done it!" the letter abruptly commenced; "Poor
Dagmar.
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