“Everyone’s going away but me,” went on Sophia Jane. “Monsieur and Mademoiselle and Gambetta and you. Everyone I like. There’s no one left. I don’t think I can bear it. What shall I do?”
A tear rolled from under the bandage.
“There’ll be Aunt Hannah,” said Susan.
“I only like her pretty well,” said Sophia Jane. “I could easily do without her. I used not to like anyone at all; but now I do, they’re all going away.”
“Well,” said Susan, casting about in her mind for some crumb of comfort, “I shall write to you when I get home, and tell you everything once every week, and you must write to me.”
“You’ll forget,” said Sophia Jane in a miserable voice.
“I never forget,” answered Susan firmly. “And then there’s another thing—I mean to ask Mother to ask you to come and stay with me. Wouldn’t that be fun? Just think of all the things we could do!”
“Do you think she would?” asked Sophia Jane.
She started up so suddenly to look at Susan that the bandage fell over one eye. A little quivering smile appeared round her mouth.
“I think so,” said Susan with caution, “if I wanted it very much.”