“So like her father. So like her father. Why, Miss Domville, do you know that your words sound very like a command?”
“And so they are meant to sound, Mr Claremont,” said auntie, laughing. “But mind you, it is I, not you, who are giving it. It is with me all responsibility rests, remember. I, not you, have to account to Major Jones, their dear father, and to my sister.”
“Yes, Miss, yes, yes, yes. I am just your adviser.”
“That’s all. So that settles it.”
“So like her father. So very like her father,” said the old gentleman, as he bowed us to the door.
I looked at Jill after we got into the street, and Jill looked at me, and the wish uppermost in our minds at that moment was to take off our caps and shout, as we used to do when playing pirates; and the greatest sorrow in our hearts at the same moment was that we could not do anything of the sort, because it would have looked so silly.
When at luncheon that afternoon, auntie told us she would remain with us until our ship sailed in September, we of course felt very glad.
“But,” I said, “will they not miss you at home?”
“I was thinking of Mattie.”
“Oh, no,” said auntie, “who is to miss me? Poor dear Mattie has her Mummy Gray, the canaries have Sarah, and Trots has Robert to wash his feet and exercise him. You see, Reginald, I am free. I love to be free. That is the sole reason why I do not get married.”