“You must have done well with the business,” said Rose, impressed.
“The Lord has prospered me—to a certain extent,” Uncle Alfred admitted. “If you will go upstairs to the room next to the store-room you will find it ready for yourself and your child. What is his name?”
“Cecil, Uncle.”
“Neither Scriptural nor historical,” said Uncle Alfred sweepingly. “Take him upstairs and wash his hands, and then we can sit at table together.”
Rose obeyed, feeling fifteen years old again.
“Oh, Ces, it’s the very room mother and I had. There’s the old picture of ‘The Soul’s Awakening’—look, Ces, isn’t it pretty?—but he’s got new furniture. I wonder who’s been in here since I slept here last.”
“Where’s the nursery, Mummie?”
“Where—oh, well, darling, you’re going to sleep in here with Mummie, you know. Won’t that be fun?”
“Yes,” said Cecil rather doubtfully. “And where shall I play, and do my lessons?”
“You’ll see to-morrow. Now wash your hands quickly—never mind a sponge; I’ll unpack afterwards, and there’s a towel here.”