“Oh, must I? I don’t want. Oh, if I could go home! They were so angry before. And I only said ‘if,’ and never meant—”
“That was the very thing, my dear,” said her aunt with a great throb of pain. “You were quite right not to encourage my poor Bobus; but this is a very different case, and I am sure they would wish you to act according as you feel.”
Esther drew a great gasp; “You are sure they would not think me wrong?”
“Quite sure,” was the reply, in full security that her mother would be rapturous at the nearly certain prospect of a coronet. “Indeed, my dear, no one can find any fault with you. You need not be afraid. He is good and worthy, and they will be glad if you wish it.”
Wish was far too strong a word for poor frightened Esther; she could only cling and quiver.
“Shall I tell him to go and see them at Kencroft?”
“Oh, do, do, dear Aunt Carey! Please tell him to go to papa, and not want to see me till—”
“Very well, my dear child; that will be the best way. Now I will send you up some tea, and then you shall put Lina to bed; and you and I will slip off quietly together, and go to St. Andrew’s in peace, quite in a different direction from the others, before they set out.”
Meantime Cecil had been found by Babie tumbling about the music and newspapers on the ottoman, and on her observation—
“Too soon, sir! And pray what mischief still have your idle hands found to do?”