"It certainly belongs to the heirs-at-law of the late Mr. Seton," he declared.
There was only one heir, or rather heiress-at-law, and that was Loveday. It was decided, therefore, to sell the furniture for her benefit. The collection included objects of great rarity, among them a genuine spinet and a beautifully inlaid bureau. At the present boom for antiques they would realize a very substantial sum, quite a windfall, indeed, for Loveday.
"Will it be enough to send me to a horticultural college?" she asked Miss Todd.
"Ample, my dear. It ought to bring you sufficient for a thoroughly good training in any career you want to take up."
This was news indeed—so splendid that it seemed almost too good to be true. Hilary's essay, which, as everybody expected, easily won the prize, had indirectly made Loveday's fortune after all.
"I bless the day when I was a prisoner in the attic," rejoiced Diana. "If I hadn't knocked that door in, the furniture might still have been lying there in the dust."
"I wonder if this was the discovery that gentleman wanted to tell Father about," surmised Loveday.
Surprise came on surprise, for the very morning after this happy solution of Loveday's future, Diana received a telegram from Paris. Mr. Hewlitt had succeeded in getting three passages (thrown up at the last by a family who were taken ill with "flu" and unable to travel); he and Mrs. Hewlitt were crossing the channel post-haste, and Diana must start from school and meet them in Liverpool. Loveday helped her to pack her boxes. It was an excited, fluttered, tearful little Diana who clung to her at the last.
"Sissie! I can't say 'Good-bye!' It's not 'good-bye' to you—only 'au revoir'."