“Is Sophy to be mistress, then?” said Fanny, blankly.
“Aunt Kezia, are you going to be married?” our impertinent Hatty wanted to know.
“No, Hester,” said my Aunt Kezia, shortly. “At my time of life a woman has a little sense left; or if she have not, she is only fit for Bedlam. I do not think Sophy will be mistress, Fanny. Somebody else is going to take that place. Otherwise, I should have stayed in it.”
“What do you mean, Aunt Kezia?” said Fanny, speaking very slowly, and in a bewildered sort of way.
Sophy said nothing. I think she knew. And all at once it seemed to come over me—as if somebody had shut me up inside a lump of ice—what it was that was going to happen.
“I mean, my dear,” my Aunt Kezia replied quietly, “that your father intends to marry again.”
Sophy’s face and tongue gave no sign that she had heard anything which was news to her. Fanny cried, “Never, surely!” Hatty said, “How jolly!” and then in a whisper to me, “Won’t I lead her a life!” I believe I said nothing. I felt shut up in that lump of ice.
“But, Aunt Kezia, what is to become of us all? Are we to stay here, or go with you?” asked Fanny.
“Your father desires me to tell you, my dears,” said my Aunt Kezia, “that he wishes to leave you quite free to please yourselves. If you choose to remain here, he will be glad to have you; and if any of you like to come with me to Fir Vale, you will be welcome, and you know what to expect.”
“What are we to expect if we stop here?” asked Sophy, in a hard, dry voice.