“Yes,” said Rose viciously. “Thanks to Jim’s absurd will, he is. But isn’t there something called the Law of Extradition—I found it in Whittaker’s Almanac—that would prevent him doing anything in a foreign country? I didn’t understand it all, but it gave me the idea of going abroad.”
“I see,” said Charlesbury again, and passed his hand across his mouth.
“No, I don’t think the Laws of Extradition would really help you very much. For one thing, the legal guardian of a minor has a certain right to determine the minor’s place of residence, and I don’t think Ford Aviolet would care about having your little boy brought up in France. In fact, if you think it over I’m almost sure you won’t really care about the idea yourself, you know. Cecil is English, after all. Don’t you really think it would be better for him to grow up in his own country?”
“Of course I do!” she cried. “But I’ve told you before—and I’ve told them, too—that Cecil isn’t fit for the ordinary English public-school education.”
“I remember.”
Charlesbury remained silent, his face reflective.
Rose stared at him hopefully, half expecting that he would present some hitherto undreamed-of solution to her problem.
“Is there any reason to decide that question of the public school at all, at present? You told me at Squires that it wasn’t the general principles of the public-school system that you disliked, but its application in Cecil’s particular case. Isn’t that so?”
She nodded vehemently.
“Why not wait and see how the boy gets on? Why, it’s at least four years and a half before he could enter any public school. Let Ford put his name down for half a dozen places if he likes, and reserve to yourself the right of re-opening the whole question by the time the boy is old enough for it to be thought of seriously. He may have altered in all sorts of respects by that time.”