“Yes, dear, and it really is wonderful, because I know the dear children always wear a special medal of the Holy Ghost when they go to their examinations, so it really is quite wonderful,” repeated Lady Argent, who, in common with many other devout souls, would frequently issue meticulous and childlike petitions to Heaven, and then express the greatest astonishment when these requests were acceded to.
“And you see, dear, if you could write quite freely to the Superior it seems to me it would be such a very great help to you, and you needn’t feel that the letters wouldn’t be quite private, because, being the Superior, of course nobody else reads her letters.”
“Thank you very much for thinking of it,” said Frances gratefully. “If Cousin Bertie lets me, I should like it very much. You see, I don’t want to vex her more than I can help, and I don’t think she’ll like my writing to Father Anselm much—but that, of course, is a matter of conscience.”
It seemed to Ludovic that those three words, as uttered by Frances, would probably be responsible for more numerous and deeper dissensions than any that the house of Tregaskis had yet known.
The next morning he drove Frances to the station. Lady Argent kissed her guest very affectionately as she bade her good-bye, gave her a rosary which had been blessed first by Father Anselm and eventually by Pope Leo XIII., and said earnestly:
“Good-bye, my dearest child, and do write to me and let me know how you get on, and what dear Bertie thinks, though kind and understanding I know she’ll be, and the grace of God will do the rest, I feel certain. You must come again whenever you like, for we love having you, though I know it’s a most awkward journey for you, dear, and I only hope you’ll not have too long a wait when you change at Bristol. Have you got your sandwiches, dear?”
Ludovic cut short his parent’s farewells, knowing from experience that they were apt to result in a narrow escape from missing the train altogether, and Frances drove away from the Wye Valley.
“I shall be interested to hear of further developments at Porthlew,” Ludovic said to his mother that evening. “That little girl is a curious mixture of timidity and determination. I wonder what her sister will think of this?”
“There is only one thing anyone can think, darling,” serenely returned Lady Argent, “and that is how very good God has been to that dear child, and I feel sure that He has a number of graces in store for her, for she is so wonderfully good and holy already.”
“I am sure of it,” gently replied Ludovic.