Laura laughed.
“Oh, not for a year or two. But—dear old Gran’papa!—he’s wonderful, of course. D’you know that he does his mile to the post and back every day still? Will do it. But he’s eighty for all that. Is it hateful of me to think ahead?”
Justin gave his thoughtful grunt.
“Of course, if the boys helped—cared about Green Gates—we could stay on. But you know what Wilfred and James are. Besides, they’re bound to get married.”
He gave her a quick look. But her grave, innocent eyes were fixed on the distant hills.
Justin’s grunt was more pronounced than ever.
She continued. She enjoyed submitting her simple plans. It was so seldom that Justin was in a listening mood.
“Oh, I’ve thought it out. When I have to—I’m going to teach. You know my literature and English are pretty good. I can get a berth at my old school any day. They’ve told me so. Well then, you see—if I have a screw of my own—there’ll be plenty over if we let Green Gates, to take old Mrs. Golding’s lodge at the top of the village. It wouldn’t be fair to uproot Aunt Adela altogether. And then—” triumphantly she set the roofing on her castle-in-the-air, “I can come home for all the holidays. I shall still belong here.” Then, a little anxiously—“Shan’t I, Justin?”
He frowned. He did not answer her.
Her face fell.