Joyce, who is quite as impressed as Monkton with her appearance, gazes at her with a furtive amazement, and both she and Monkton wait in a sort of studied silence to know the meaning of it. They aren't given long to possess their souls in patience.
"Freddy, I don't think Mabel ought to have any more jam," says Mrs. Monkton, presently, "or Tommy either." She looks at the children as she speaks, and sighs softly. "It will cost a great deal," says she.
"The jam!" says her husband. "Well, really, at the rate they are consuming it—I——"
"Oh, no. The railway—the boat—the fare—the whole journey," says she.
"The journey?" says Joyce.
"Why, to England, to take them over there to see their grandmother," says Mrs. Monkton calmly.
"But, Barbara——"
"Well, dear?"
"I thought——"
"Barbara! I really consider that question decided," says her husband, not severely, however. Is the dearest wish of his heart to be accomplished at last? "I thought you had finally made up your mind to refuse my mother's invitation?"