but it's useless to talk
about that. And as Dick gracefully reminds me, the pot can't call the
kettle black. I am the pot. Oh!

I was in such a happy mood when we went into the Abbey, and so delighted
that we were able to be there by moonlight, dreaming as little of what
would happen as Red Riding Hood did before she met the wolf.

Sir Lionel and I started together, somehow, but the minute we were in
the ruins Mrs. Senter called him to ask a question about the tombs that
break the soft green carpet of grass in the long aisles. Instantly Dick
pounced on me, just as his aunt did in the cave the other day, and I
could only have got away from him by showing that I'd rather be with Sir
Lionel--which, of course, I wouldn't do.

Dick began at once accusing me of avoiding him, and keeping out of his
way on purpose when he tried to speak with me alone, ever since he came
back from Scotland; and I retorted flippantly: "Oh, have you only
noticed that since then?"

But in a minute I wished I hadn't defied him. He said, if I wanted him
to be considerate, making him angry wasn't the right way to set about
it; and that, if I had been in his power before, I was a good deal
deeper in now.

Still, I wasn't so very frightened, because I'm used to his threats, and
I thought he was only "bluffing"; so I bluffed back, and laughed, saying
that it didn't suit his style to be melodramatic.

"You make me want to shake you," he said, crossly.

"I know that," said I. And then he burst like a thunder-cloud--at least,
his news did; the news he had been wanting to tell me since Bideford.

When he was in Scotland, _he saw Ellaline_. She had arrived with those
McNamarras I told you about, and their place must be near the one where
Dick's mother is visiting. He recognized her from that photograph of the
school garden-party (where he saw my picture, too, you know, and was
able to find out my name, and where we live in Versailles). That is, he
thought he couldn't be mistaken, but made sure by inquiring, until he
hit upon someone who could tell him that a Mademoiselle de Nesville had
come to stay with Mrs. and Miss McNamarra. Of course, he couldn't have
known that Ellaline had taken the name of de Nesville, but as he had
heard that de Nesville was her mother's maiden name, it wasn't difficult
for a budding Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together.

You see how much worse the position is now, both for Ellaline and me,
and that the little wretch