Sidney smiled bravely as she kissed her.
"I feel I can stand anything as long as dad and I are together. A house, after all, is not the chief happiness in one's life. And if we were to move into another place, it would still be home to me."
Gavine said no more, and never referred to the subject again.
Spring was already showing its hand in the London squares and parks when Sidney and her father turned their steps homewards. As they sped through the fresh green meadows, and noted the budding copses and woods by the side of the railway line, the Admiral said:
"It is good to be going home, little girl. I have already my old craving for the salt sea breeze and the sweet smell of the country."
Sidney nodded, but could not trust herself to speak. Her heart felt as heavy as lead. She gazed out of the carriage window with misty eyes, and longed that the end of their journey should come, so that her fears might either be certainties or be proved groundless.
The hired fly was at the station to meet them, and the stationmaster, as usual, had a little pleasant chat with the Admiral.
"Saw the Major down here yesterday, sir. A deal of company since you've been away."
"I wonder if the company has departed," Sidney said to her father, as they were driving up together.
"I should hope so," her father said; then he turned to her with his cheeriest smile. "Remember, little woman, we have quite made up our minds that we are going home to pack up our things and flit. We'll be a happy party till then, I hope."