“Those were treats,” Cecil observed shrewdly. “Treats are always fun, but when it isn’t a treat day, I don’t like London, Mummie. I’d rather be at home again.”
She realized that by “home” he meant Squires, and that Squires, though she felt it hostile, herself, had been home to his forbears for many generations. She stifled within herself a lurking remorsefulness.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if you and I went in a ship together, to a very nice country place—real country—and stayed there for a bit?”
“Ceylon?” inquired Cecil in a puzzled voice.
“No, no, not as far as that. Perhaps France, or somewhere like that.”
“But aren’t we going back to Squires?”
“I don’t know, lovey.”
“But I want to ride again, and to play cricket. And I want to go to school, where that little boy is who bowls so well.”
Rose realized with dismay the odd tenacity of a child’s memory.
Cecil had begun to cry.