“How you love your greenhouse! You have been so much happier since we came here.”
“I have. And you?”
“I’m not altogether happy, because I want to go away.”
“My dear!”
“Yes. You can’t be quite happy when you’re going away from things and people you’ve loved and grown used to, can you?”
“I suppose not.”
“Father . . .” Francis trembled. His affections were touched. In his thoughts he had not realised the poignancy of his loss. It was going to be very painful; more painful almost than anything that had ever happened to him. He could not bear her hesitation, and he hastened the calamity.
“I know,” he said.
“You know?”
“Yes. I have had a letter from—his mother. She is very angry.”