“She don’t look to me like one as would do anything as didn’t please herself just as well. She is a good lady, a mighty good lady, and a generous and a charitable one, and she give me a great deal of money for the poor children. And I shall always be thankful to her and pray for her, and get the brethren to pray for her; but all the same, she’s got a will of her own, my dear. She will have her own way—you may depend she will.
‘Gin mammie and daddie and a’ gang mad,’
as the old song says.”
“Well, I shall know to-morrow why she has delayed her voyage,” said Lilith.
“Yes, and if she is going to marry the old secretary—and a nice old gentleman he is, too, I will say that for him—she won’t want you, my dear. It’s only rich old maids and rich widows as wants companions—married women don’t. And so she’ll let you off your bargain and pay you compensation, which is no more than right and proper, she being wealthy and generous and you being a young orphan. And that’s what’s going to happen, maybe, to prevent your voyage, and I shall have you all to myself. Who knows?”
“I do not think that will happen, Aunt Sophie.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
“Yes, very soon. This very evening.”
“And if it is that which I said, of course we shall all hear it. But if it is anything else that has made her change her day of sailing, will you tell me?”
“Yes, Aunt Sophie, unless the communication of the baroness to me should be of a confidential nature,” said Lilith.