Cecil was openly delighted at the prospect of holidays and new surroundings. He had only once before been taken by her to London from Squires, for the purpose of visiting the dentist, and his reminiscences of the occasion, his continual questions and exclamations, pleased Rose as much as they did himself, in her sudden exhilaration of spirits.
At the terminus, they engaged a hansom cab, symbolical to Rose of “treats” that her mother had given her during her schooldays. In spite of the excited little boy beside her, she could almost have believed herself a schoolgirl again, her married life, Ceylon, and the months spent at Squires, had all become equally misty and unreal.
She wondered if Uncle Alfred would have changed, and could hardly realize that it was years since she had seen him.
“Mummie,” said Cecil, “will Uncle Alfred be nice? Will he like me?”
“If you’re good,” Rose made the traditional reply.
“Has he got a nice house?”
A faint misgiving assailed her. “It won’t be like Squires, you know, darling. Not a big house.”
“But there’ll be a garden?”
“Well—no. But I’ll take you to the park sometimes.”
“Shall I be able to play cricket there?”