“Mary Anne.”
“Yes, my man.”
“There’s that child, Kitty Merrydew, staying at Preston Manor.”
“Yes?”
“We might as well have her along here for a few days; she can go back to school then with our girls. You might write her a bit of a note, if you like.”
“Oh, John, I’m glad you have forgiven her, then, whatever she has done wrong.”
“Now, listen to me, Mary Anne. I never told you that the girl did anything wrong; I never told you anything at all about her. I say that she may come here for the rest of the holidays; I don’t say that I am going to be friends with her. I say nothing about that; I say she may have houseroom here, and I dare say she’ll be glad to have it. I say that she’s to be treated as she was always treated, and I say you may write her a note, and be quick about it, and send it over by messenger.”
Kitty was out when the note arrived; it was lying on the hall-table when she returned: “Miss Kitty Merrydew.”
“I say, Kitty, here’s a letter for you,” exclaimed Molly. “It has come by messenger. Who could have sent it?”
Kitty opened it. She did not know why her hand shook so much, but it did shake. She opened it, and her eyes glowed. She looked full at Molly.