"That's a good child!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, relieved. Not that Anne-Hilarion was, as a rule, anything else but good, yet, as he was very sensitive and his grandfather ridiculously tender-hearted, the old man dreaded even the remotest shadow of a difference of opinion. "It will only be for a few days," he went on, "and I think you had better go at once, this afternoon, in fact, so that you will get back all the earlier, in case Papa should return from Italy sooner than we expect."
This he said with a view of heartening his grandson, well knowing that the term of 'a few days,' elastic as it was, could hardly see René back from Verona.
(2)
But if Anne-Hilarion was resigned, Mrs. Saunders received the news of the proposed expedition in a manner indicative of the highest disapproval. Such a plan was, she declared, against sense and nature; she could not imagine what the Marquis was thinking of. He must be clean daft. No one but a man would have conceived of such a scheme. She supposed that was the way they did things in France. Fifty odd miles to Canterbury—seven hours at the very least; the bairn would take his death of fatigue; and here was Glenauchtie proposing that they should start that very afternoon! She was a little mollified, but not greatly, on hearing that they were only to go as far as Rochester that day, and sleep there, continuing their journey next morning.
But 'Glenauchtie,' for all his gentleness, was always obeyed, and Elspeth packed her charge's 'duds' and her own that morning with considerable promptitude in spite of her protestations.
Meanwhile Mr. Elphinstone, after writing a letter to Anne's hostesses, which he dispatched direct to Canterbury, and sending a servant to take two places in the afternoon stage-coach to Rochester, set out with his grandson to buy the promised goldfish. It proved to be a transaction which took time, because Anne found it difficult to make up his mind between two similarly priced fishes, one of which, though larger than the other, was not of so good a colour. As he remarked, in a tone of puzzled reproach, the gold was coming off, and this disillusioning fact caused him to put to the shopman, in his clear, precise, and oddly stressed English, many searching questions on what further sorrowful transformations of the sort might be expected in any fish he bought. Finally the smaller and more perfect fish was selected, and they left the little shop, Anne carrying his purchase very carefully by a piece of string tied round the top of its glass bowl.
"Will it be lonely, Grandpapa? Do you think we ought to have bought two?" he suggested, as he trotted along by Mr. Elphinstone's side, all his energies directed to keeping the water steady.
"There would hardly be room for two in there, child. Perhaps when you come back from Canterbury we might get another, and have them both in a larger bowl. But the present is best for travelling purposes."
"Yes, perhaps it is best to have only one goldfish. Last year, when I had tadpoles, they ate one another—you remember, Grandpapa? This goldfish could not eat itself, could it, Grandpapa?"
"I should hardly think it possible," replied Mr. Elphinstone gravely.