“How so?” asked Sir Eustace.

She laughed up at him with the happy confidence of a child.  “Can’t you see it for yourself?  I—­I am a mere guttersnipe compared to the de Vignes.  They live in a great house with lots of servants and cars.  They never do a thing for themselves.  I don’t suppose Rose could do her hair to save her life.  While we—­we live in a tumble-down, ramshackle old place, and do all the work ourselves.  I’ve never been away from home in my life before.  You see, we’re poor, and Billy’s schooling takes up a lot of money.  I had to leave school when he first went as a boarder.  And that is three years ago now.  So I have forgotten all I ever learnt.”

“Except dancing,” he suggested.

“Oh, well, that’s born in me.  I couldn’t very well forget that.  My mother—­” Dinah hesitated momentarily—­“my mother was a dancer before she married.”

“And she taught you?” asked Sir Eustace.

“No, no!  She never taught me anything except useful things—­like cooking and sewing and house-work.  And I detest them all,” said Dinah frankly.  “I like sweeping the garden and digging the potatoes far better.”

“She keeps you busy then,” commented Sir Eustace, with semi-humorous interest.

“Busy isn’t the word for it,” declared Dinah.  “I’m going from morning till night.  We do the washing at home too.  I get up at five and go to bed at nine.  I make nearly all my own clothes too.  That’s why I haven’t got any,” she ended naively.

He laughed.  “Not really!  But what makes you work so hard as that?  You’re wasting all your best time.  You’ll never be so young again, you know.”

“I know!” cried Dinah, and suddenly a wild gust of rebellion went through her.  “It’s hateful!  I never knew how hateful till I came here.  Going back will be—­too horrible for words.  But—­” her voice fell abruptly flat—­“what am I to do?”

“I should go on strike,” he said lightly.  “Tell your good mother that she must find someone else to do the work!  You are going to take it easy and enjoy yourself.”

Dinah uttered a short, painful laugh.

“Wouldn’t that do?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?” he questioned with indolent amusement.  “Surely you’re not afraid of the broomstick!”

Dinah gave a great start, and suddenly, as they skated, pressed close to him with the action of some small, terrified creature seeking shelter.  “Oh, don’t—­don’t let us spoil this perfect night by talking of my home affairs!” she pleaded, her voice quick and passionate.  “I want to put everything right away.  I want to forget there is such a place as home.”

His arm was around her in a moment.  He held her caught to him.  “I can soon make you forget that, my Daphne,” he said.  “I can lead you through such a wonderland as will dazzle you into complete forgetfulness of everything else.  But you must trust me, you know.  You mustn’t be afraid.”