"Really it is most upsetting! Though we have often said we should like to see Paul's little daughter, haven't we, John? It will be a great responsibility for us to have charge of her, but under the circumstances—"
"Had you not better let me know the contents of Paul's letter, my dear Ann?" interposed Mr. Basset, smiling.
He was a tall thin man, with stooping shoulders which made him look older than his sister, who was his senior by several years. Being of a retiring disposition, he lived a quiet life, spending most of his days in the pursuits he loved—the study of flowers and insects. The gardens surrounding his home—the Glen, a modern red brick residence, situated near the west country town of Midbury—were full of the choicest plants; and he was the possessor of one of the finest collections of moths and butterflies in England.
Miss Basset had kept house for her brother for many years, during which they had been very happy together. They were good, kind people, always ready to help any charitable cause which was brought to their notice; but they lived rather narrow lives, and made few new acquaintances.
Six years previously Mr. Basset had been left trustee to two orphan children—May and Donald Rae—who had then come to live at the Glen. They were twins, twelve years of age, and were being educated by a daily governess.
Donald had been to a boarding-school at Exeter for some months; but, unfortunately, whilst playing football he had seriously injured his right knee. He had been laid up for weeks, and was still obliged to walk with a crutch. The doctors advised that he should be kept at home for the present, and had expressed the opinion that he would most likely be lame all his life.
Miss Basset passed the letter she had been reading to her brother. It was from their nephew, Paul Basset, their dead brother's only son, who was an officer in an Indian regiment. He was a widower, his young wife having died eighteen months after their marriage, leaving him with a baby girl whom he had kept with him in India. She was now eleven years of age.
"I see! I see!" murmured Mr. Basset, as, having read his nephew's letter, he folded it carefully, placed it in its envelope, and returned it to his sister. "Well, I suppose having Josephine here will not make much difference anyway, Ann?"
"I don't know about that," Miss Basset answered doubtfully; "it will depend upon what she is like, of course. An Indian-born child, accustomed to native servants, may not settle down comfortably in an English home. Dear me, I was saying only yesterday that we had no relative at the front, little thinking how soon our nearest and dearest would be there! Oh, dear me!"
"Is Captain Basset going to the front then?" asked Donald eagerly. He and his sister had been listening to their elders with growing curiosity.