‘It was before I rightly knew you; and indeed it shall never be so again. We are so comfortable now together; do not let us break it up again, and take the poor dear children away to grow pale in London. You shall have all you wish; I will never do anything you don’t like with the children; and all your family shall come and stay whenever you please; only don’t go away, dear Violet—I cannot spare you.’
‘Oh! don’t, dear grandmamma! This is too much,’ said Violet, almost crying. ‘You are so very kind. Oh! I should be so glad for Arthur to be spared the London winter! How happy the children will be! Thank you, indeed.’
‘You do consent, then!’ cried Lady Martindale, triumphantly. ‘John thought we had not made you happy enough!’
‘John should know better! It is the greatest relief—if Arthur likes it, I mean.’
‘Then you do stay. You will be, as Lord Martindale says, the daughter of our old age—our own dear child!’
‘Will I?’ Violet threw her arms round Lady Martindale’s neck, and shed tears of joy.
Lady Martindale held her in her arms, and murmured caressing words. Arthur’s step approached. His mother opened the door and met him. ‘She consents! Dear, dear Violet consents! Now we shall be happy.’
Arthur smiled, looked at his wife, understood her face, and replied to his mother with a warm kiss, a thank you, and good night. She went away in perfect satisfaction.
Your last, greatest victory, Violet,’ said he. ‘You have got at her heart at last, and taught her to use it. But, do you like this plan?’
‘Like it? It is too delightful! If you knew how I have been dreading that winter in London for your chest!’