“Yes, I suppose so,” said Rosa doubtfully, “and she must learn self-reliance, poor child!”
She thought secretly that it would be well to shield Violante from encounters with James Crichton, and that at least she would be safe at school. But Rosa was very miserable at this time. She had not given up her prospects without scorching tears of disappointment. Four years back seemed nearly as recent to her regretful memory as four months to Violante’s; and now she must part with her child and lose the caresses that were the sweetest things in life to her. Violante grew frightened as the time drew near, and clung to her more closely than ever; but she never uttered a word of resistance, and regarded the going to school, as she had done the coming to England, with the same curious under-current of inclination.
In the middle of January Mrs Grey received a letter from Miss Venning, saying:
“My sister Florence has been in London, and will return on the 18th. If you would like it she will bring your niece back with her—it is the day we re-open school.”
This arrangement was gladly acceded to; and on a clear cold morning Violante, well wrapped up, walked up and down the long platform from which she was to start, furtively holding Rosa’s fingers in her muff, and looking about for a school-mistress very unlike the tall, fair, rosy-faced girl who came rapidly up to the appointed meeting-place.
“Miss Florence Venning?” said Mrs Grey. “How do you do? Here are my nieces, and this is Violante.”
Florence shook hands with them, and answered enquiries for her eldest sister, and then, as Mrs Grey said something aside about her niece’s shyness and grief at leaving her sister, she answered, in a kind, yet matter-of-course manner:
“Oh, yes. I daresay she minds it very much; but she’ll soon be quite happy again, I’m sure. I hope we shall be very good friends.”
“You are a governess, too, aren’t you?” she added, to Rosa, with a view to making acquaintance.
“Yes,” said Rosa, rather faintly.