A Quiet Talk.
Christmas Day came to an end, and the very next morning, when I was alone with my step-mother, I asked her what Hermione meant by her words.
“Oh, she has told you?” said Mrs Grant.
She was sitting by the fire in the little drawing-room; the stuffed birds and the stuffed animals surrounded us, but the room was never close, and it had the faint, delicious smell of cedar-wood which had fascinated me so much on the occasion of my first visit.
“Sit down, Dumps,” she said, holding out her hand to take one of mine.
“But please tell me,” I said.
“Well, yes, it has been arranged. Your father would like it, and so would I. You go on the 21st of January. It is a very nice school, just beyond the Champs Élysées. You will be well taught, and I think the change will do you good.”
“You suggested it, didn’t you?” I said.
“Yes, naturally.”
“Why naturally? I am his child.”