I hope the boy is well, and not giving you too much trouble, with no one to relieve you of him. We quite miss him here, and I do not like to think of him in London fogs, which I see by the papers are beginning now. Quite fine weather here since you left, though not much sun, and the poor garden is beginning to look dull.
Yours affectionately,
Catherine Aviolet.
P. S. Ford has been down to Hurst, the preparatory school we thought of for Cecil, and was very favourably impressed. He is anxious to talk it all over with you.
Rose was roused to one of her sudden, vehement furies.
“That settles it! I won’t go back there, nor let Cecil either.”
She dashed into the shop, where Felix Menebees had just put up the shutters.
“Is Mr. Millar there?”
“Here, Mrs. Aviolet.”
“I say, I want to ask you something. Is it true that a person—a child’s guardian—has equal rights with the child’s mother?”
“In what respect, Mrs. Aviolet?”