‘And you didn’t tell her you’d taken it yourself?’ said Aunt Grace quietly, as Emmeline hid her face in the pillow.
A stifled sound that could just be distinguished as ‘No!’ came from the depths of the pillow.
‘Well, I’m very sorry indeed about this,’ said Aunt Grace, ‘far more sorry than about anything else that’s happened. But I’m glad you’ve told me. You’ll have to tell Jane as soon as you get home.’
Emmeline hated the idea of telling Jane, but she saw that it was the only honourable thing to be done, and resolved to do it on the first possible opportunity; a resolution which she bravely carried out when the right time came.
That was all Aunt Grace said in the way of reproof. For the rest of the visit she spoke chiefly of Miss King, telling Emmeline about the last few hours of her life as though she found comfort in the child’s sympathy.
‘I can’t grieve very much,’ she said simply. ‘For years we had been dreading the end, and when it really came she suffered so very little. Of course, there must always be one’s selfish sorrow at the loss, but I can’t feel she is at all far off.’
A few minutes later Aunt Grace went away, and for the rest of the morning Emmeline was left alone except for a short visit from the Doctor. She did not feel at all dull or lonely, however, for there seemed so much to think and wonder over.
‘It’s very odd how different people are from what you expect them to be,’ was the upshot of her reflections. ‘Mary was dear and kind, as she always is, but she didn’t understand a bit. It was Aunt Grace who understood that adopting Diamond Jubilee wasn’t all naughtiness. Well, that plan’s been a great failure, and I don’t suppose we shall ever see him again, but anyhow, there’s one good thing come of it. If it hadn’t been for Diamond Jubilee I might never have known how good and nice Aunt Grace really is!’