And Flora’s eyes soon after that were shining more than ever. She was wild with excitement. Rosalie heard the news just before tea. Flora was going to India to Uncle Tom!
“Oh,” cried Flora, “I’m so excited I simply don’t know what to do with myself!” It was all arranged. Father had settled it. She was to go in about six weeks’ time. Very shortly she was to go up to London with father and buy heaps of clothes and all sorts of things. They were going to stay at a hotel. “Not with Aunt Belle, thank goodness!” said Flora. “At a hotel! Fancy that!” Mother wasn’t going and Flora was glad mother wasn’t going. She would have a much better time with father. Father had decided everything. He had decided that mother couldn’t leave him in the rectory with all the housekeeping to look after, and the change would do him good, and Aunt Belle would be able to help with the shopping. They were going to see some theatres and all kinds of things and were going to have a most splendid time and then, soon afterwards—India! “Oh I shall go mad with excitement in a minute!” cried Flora.
The next thing was in the evening. Rosalie, searching for her mother to ask her something, could not find her. She went into her mother’s bedroom and there was the most surprising thing. There was Anna on her knees by her mother and her head on her mother’s lap and Anna was sobbing; and she was crying in her sobs, “But it’s my right! I’m the eldest. It’s my right!”
Rosalie stood there, unnoticed, amazed. Whatever was it?
Rosalie’s mother stroked Anna’s head and spoke very softly, “My darling! My darling!” She said, “My darling, your father has decided. Your father knows best. Men always know best, my darling.”
“It’s my right, mother. It’s my right. It’s always Flora. Oh, why should it always be Flora?”
“Dear Anna. Poor Anna. You must be reasonable, dear Anna. We women must always be reasonable. Don’t you see that your father thinks of me? He thinks my eldest girl—my dear eldest girl—ought to stay at home to look after her mother. It’s on my account, dear Anna. He thinks of me.”
“Oh, mother, what’s the good of telling me that? A lot he thinks of you or ever has! Why is he going up to London with Flora when it’s your place to go? A lot he thinks of you! You say we must be reasonable. You can be. You’ve been unselfish all your life. I can’t be. Not in this. I’ve never had a pleasure in my life; I’ve never had a chance; I’ve never had anything done for me. Ever since I can remember it’s always been Flora, Flora, Flora. Now there’s this. I’m getting on, mother. I’m nearly twenty-four. What have I got to look forward to? Flora’s younger, Flora’s different. She’ll have lots of chances of enjoying herself. This is my right. It’s my right, mother.”
“My dear Anna. My eldest girl. My first dear, sweet girlie. How could I do without you? How happy we’ve been. How happy we will be.”
Rosalie crept away.