‘Of whom are you talking, my darling?’ I asked, as I cast away the remains of my cigar, and advanced towards her.
‘Of my cousin Lionne, Robert dear; Margaret Anstruther, of whom I have so often spoken to you. I told you some time ago, didn’t I, that in consequence of her mother’s death she was coming out to the care of our uncle, Colonel Anstruther, at Madras?’
‘Well, what of it? Has she arrived?’
‘No; but this letter is from Uncle Henry, and he is in such a dilemma. He expected Margaret to be with him four or five mails ago; but her guardians have delayed and delayed to send her out; and now, just as he is ordered off to China to join his regiment, he receives a letter to say that she will arrive by the next steamer.’
‘And he will have left Madras?’
‘Yes; and for six months at least. He does not know what on earth to do about it.’
And Janie, in an uncertain manner, kept turning the sheet of paper over and over in her hands.
‘He must ask one of his lady friends to receive Miss Anstruther,’ I suggested.
‘So he would, Robert, were it not for so long a time. But a six months’ visit is too much to expect from any stranger. If Emma were only here, Uncle Henry would have sent Margaret to her.’