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like being in prison,” I said.
    â€œThat’s what it seems like.”
    â€œAnd really no friends of your own?”
    â€œI have now. I’ve got Greta.”
    â€œWho’s Greta?” I said.
    â€œShe came first as an au pair —no, not quite that, perhaps. But anyway I’d had a French girl who lived with us for a year, for French, and then Greta came from Germany, for German. Greta was different. Everything was different once Greta came.”
    â€œYou’re very fond of her?” I asked.
    â€œShe helps me,” said Ellie. “She’s on my side. She arranges so that I can do things and go places. She’ll tell lies for me. I couldn’t have got away to come down to Gipsy’s Acre if it hadn’t been for Greta. She’s keeping me company and looking after me in London while my stepmother’s in Paris. I write two or three letters and if I go off anywhere Greta posts them every three or four days so that they have a London postmark.”
    â€œWhy did you want to go down to Gipsy’s Acre though?” I asked. “What for?”
    She didn’t answer at once.
    â€œGreta and I arranged it,” she said. “She’s rather wonderful,” she went on. “She thinks of things, you know. She suggests ideas.”
    â€œWhat’s this Greta like?” I asked.
    â€œOh, Greta’s beautiful,” she said. “Tall and blonde. She can do anything.”
    â€œI don’t think I’d like her,” I said.
    Ellie laughed.
    â€œOh yes you would. I’m sure you would. She’s very clever, too.”
    â€œI don’t like clever girls,” I said. “And I don’t like tall blonde girls. I like small girls with hair like autumn leaves.”
    â€œI believe you’re jealous of Greta,” said Ellie.
    â€œPerhaps I am. You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes, I am very fond of her. She’s made all the difference in my life.”
    â€œAnd it was she who suggested you went down there. Why, I wonder? There’s not much to see or do in that part of the world. I find it rather mysterious.”
    â€œIt’s our secret,” said Ellie and looked embarrassed.
    â€œYours and Greta’s? Tell me.”
    She shook her head. “I must have some secrets of my own,” she said.
    â€œDoes your Greta know you’re meeting me?”
    â€œShe knows I’m meeting someone. That’s all. She doesn’t ask questions. She knows I’m happy.”
    After that there was a week when I didn’t see Ellie. Her stepmother had come back from Paris, also someone whom she called Uncle Frank, and she explained almost casually that she was having a birthday, and that they were giving a big party for her in London.
    â€œI shan’t be able to get away,” she said. “Not for the next week. But after that—after that, it’ll be different.”
    â€œWhy will it be different after that?”
    â€œI shall be able to do what I like then.”
    â€œWith Greta’s help as usual?” I said.
    It used to make Ellie laugh the way I talked about Greta. She’d say, “You’re so silly to be jealous of her. One day you must meet her. You’ll like her.”
    â€œI don’t like bossy girls,” I said obstinately.
    â€œWhy do you think she’s bossy?”
    â€œBy the way you talk about her. She’s always busy arranging something.”
    â€œShe’s very efficient,” said Ellie. “She arranges things very well. That’s why my stepmother relies on her so much.”
    I asked what her Uncle Frank was like.
    She said, “I don’t know him really so very well. He was my father’s sister’s husband, not a real relation. I think he’s always been rather a rolling stone and got into trouble once or twice. You know the way people talk about someone and sort of hint things.”
    â€œNot