She paused to allow this shaft to go home, and then continued:
“I’ll send Letty up to-morrow afternoon with that new book on gardening, and you might take the opportunity of having a nice little talk with her. Now good-bye, dearest friend,” and she stooped over the couch, kissed the lady with tender affection, and so departed. That was done!
For hours the same night Mrs. Denton lay awake miserable and restless, wondering what she could say to Letty, and how she was to say it; for it is a delicate task to tell a girl that she must put away all thoughts of your own nephew; and oh, how the poor cat’s-paw hated and dreaded the ordeal. And yet it must be faced—it would be, as Dorothy the wise had pointed out, a fatal mistake for Lancelot to marry before he got his company; and even then a girl without a penny would hamper his future. She must put sentiment from her, and think of Lancelot’s career.
Letty duly arrived with the book on gardens, and remained to make tea. After a little desultory talk about the bulbs, her terrified hostess broke the ice.
“I had a few lines from Lancelot this morning—he is back at Aldershot.”
At his name the girl coloured up, and looked expectant.
“I don’t think we shall see him here for a long time.”
“No.”
“From Gibraltar his regiment goes on to Egypt, and India.”
“So he told me,” rejoined Letty with disconcerting promptness. “How I envy them; I would give anything to go to India, you know, I was born there!”