"Not details. I want them."
So, in a soft steady voice Sidney went over those last precious days, which would always be beloved in her memory.
Austin had been so truly fond of her father, that his sympathy was more to her than that shown by others. And then he drew her on to talk of herself and her own plans. He was aghast when she told him of her altered circumstances.
"I shall have enough to live on," she told him; "but, of course, father's pension is gone, and the house with all its contents seems to belong to Uncle Ted. He has promised to furnish a small cottage for me from any bits that I like to pick out. Ethel suggests my going to Lovelace's Cottage, which is still unlet; but I can't bring myself to do that. It is a matter of pride, I am afraid."
"But you don't mean that they're going to turn you out?"
"No, I am choosing to go myself. I have been too long my own mistress to be happy here now. Uncle Ted has besought me to stay; but it is neither good for him nor her that I should do so. Your mother has very kindly asked me to stay with her till I can find a house. I don't want to leave neighbourhood."
"And you're coming to us? That's the first bit of good news I've heard since I came back! It has been blow upon blow! That imp of a girl met me yesterday on the way from the station and poured a black recital into my ears."
"Do you mean Jockie? I thought you were good friends."
"So we were. She's a pretty little thing, too, but she piled it on too strong, and did not spare me, I can tell you! How on earth has she got hold of my father? She manages him like no one else, my mother tells me. And he is actually going to get rid of Dobbs!"
"Jockie has great tenderness under that careless exterior; and patience, too. I have seen her with sick people, and she is a different being at once. Poor Jockie! She espouses my cause with too much zeal. She will learn wisdom later on. And now tell me all about yourself. We have talked enough of me and my troubles!"