"It seems most unjust!" exclaimed Mrs. M'Cosh indignantly. "Mr. Renford must be—" She paused abruptly, doubting whether it would be wisdom to say what she thought of Felicia's grandfather.
"Did you, hear what my grandmother was like, Mr. M'Cosh?" inquired Felicia anxiously.
"No, my dear, my mate never saw her, and he was told she seldom went out, except for drives in fine weather. The Priory is a very old house, beautifully situated in the midst of lovely scenery. Why, Felicia, you'll hardly know yourself there!"
"Perhaps I shan't be wanted," said Felicia with a little choking sob.
But Mr. M'Cosh was of a different opinion, and said so. He thought such a pretty little girl as Felicia would be very welcome in the big, lonely house his friend had been at some pains to depict to him. It seemed strange, after all he had heard, that Mr. Renford's grandchild should be his guest, and he regarded her with a somewhat wistful expression in his mild blue eyes, which Felicia noticed and wondered at.
"When do you think I ought to go to the Priory?" she asked in a tearful voice.
"Well, let me see, it's Friday now," Mr. M'Cosh observed reflectively; "we'd like to keep you till Monday, if you'll stay—eh, missus?"
Mrs. M'Cosh nodded silently.
"If I'll stay!" cried Felicia. "Oh, if I could always live with you, how delighted I should be! But I promised mother to go to father's relations, and, of course, I must go."
"They have the best right to you, my dear. Don't you think, though, you ought to write and say you're coming?" And Mr. M'Cosh glanced dubiously from the little girl to his wife.