Rhoda could scarcely suppress a sob. She knew something of what was passing in Sir Robert’s mind, for he had often uttered words expressive of his regret that Lady Sarah was not more domestic in her tastes. That that aspiration chiefly concerned the delicate boy it was not difficult to understand.
But now that the matter was settled, that Rhoda had promised to remain at the Mill-house, there was another question to be answered. Why had she been so anxious to go away? What, too, did she mean by these words, uttered half-unconsciously, as it seemed, to the boy: “You don’t know what you’re asking!”
Sir Robert had supposed, naturally enough, when Rhoda told him that afternoon that she wished to leave the house, that it was the unpleasant affair of the lost picture which had caused her so suddenly to make up her mind to leave a house where she had been subjected to such an alarming experience as that of the previous night. To a nervous woman, the night alarm, followed by a mysterious and not yet explained sequel, must have been quite sufficient to make her disinclined to stay in a house where such things had happened.
Now, however, on overhearing these whispered words to Caryl, which implied that she had something still to fear, Sir Robert was moved to strong curiosity.
He looked at her intently, and Rhoda blushed under his scrutiny.
Meanwhile Caryl, delighted to have carried his point, was playing affectionately with her right hand, and pressing it against his cheek.
Sir Robert was anxious to have an opportunity of putting some questions to Rhoda, and, with that idea in his mind, he smiled down at his little son and said:
“And now you’ve persuaded her to stay with you, Caryl, you mustn’t be greedy, and expect to have her all to yourself. You must let mama see a little of her too, and me.”
The boy looked up, smiling.
“I want her the most,” said he. “You’ve got your pictures, papa, and mama’s got Jack.”