Feelings and wishes existed, of course. Madame Collier would be grieved to bid farewell to her home of many years. She hated travelling, as she said to Jean; detested children; and loathed change.
Moreover, Mr. Trevelyan and Jean would suffer at parting; for with all her ruggedness, Madame Collier had been a tried friend to them both. Sincere affection existed on either side, beneath a shell of reserve. What of all this? Nay, what of the fact that the loss of her personal income would entail some measure of straitness upon the Rectory household? The question, as it came before their minds, was not at all what any of them might like or wish, but simply, what was the right thing to do? If Madame Collier and her money were needed in France, then she had no business at Dulveriford. The stern Trevelyan sense of duty rose in its might, and settled the question without delay.
In one week, Madame Collier had wound up her English affairs, had packed her personal effects, and was on the road.
Mr. Trevelyan and Jean accompanied her to London. Mr. Trevelyan had business in Town, and he counted it a good opportunity to give Jean a little change.
"There it is! There's the bell! Jean, I can't wait any longer. My train will be off, I know. We are on the wrong platform. Tell your father—"
"Here he comes!"
"Stewart, I am losing my train."
Mr. Trevelyan seemed to be chewing the cud of meditation. He surveyed his sister and her regiment of parcels, with a gaze which found utterance in the query—
"Why did you not bring another trunk?"
"They charge so for luggage abroad. You saw what I had before, so there's no need to bother. If my train is off, I declare I will not cross at night. I'm quite determined. If I have to be drowned, I'll be drowned in daylight."