“Change wasn’t so much the fashion in my young days,” said Aunt Briscoe. “People are always wanting now to rush away somewhere. It’s a perfect mania.”
“I don’t want to go away,” said Maimie. But now that the little excitement of our coming in was over, she lost all her colour, and looked very tired and pale.
“You may as well leave the lessons, and come upstairs with us,” Aunt Briscoe said decisively. “I wish to see more of the girl, niece Marion.” Maimie looked at me, and I nodded assent, so she came, not without protests from the boys. She had such a curious power of making them love their books, unlike too many teachers.
We sat talking for nearly an hour, before Robert came in, and Aunt Briscoe paid more attention to Maimie than to any of us. Even her favourite Cherry was neglected; but unselfish Cherry never minded being in the background.
Maimie was put through quite a course of questions, as to her past life, her mother and her stepfather, how the marriage had come about, where they had lived, why Churton Hazel had sent her back, and much besides. Maimie bore the questioning patiently, though tears now and then came to her eyes.
“I always said Churton was a worthless fellow,” the old lady declared at length.
I could have contradicted this “always said,” but of course I did not.
A wave of colour rushed over poor Maimie’s face. She too was mute, however.
“We shan’t hear any more of him till he wants money himself. He had better not come to me then, that’s all.”
“Oh, I don’t think—” faltered Maimie.