“Besides, the house is occupied,” said Mr. Cardew, catching at any excuse not to carry out this abominable plan, as he termed it.
“Well, dear, at the present moment it is not. I had a letter a week ago from our agent to ask if he should relet it for the winter and next season, and I have not yet replied to him.”
“Nonsense, nonsense, Sylvia! We cannot go to live there.”
“I don’t wish it, my love.”
The pair sat quite silent after Mrs. Cardew had made this last remark.
After a time her husband said, “We’re really placed in a very cruel dilemma; but doubtless there are schools and schools. Now, I feel that the time has arrived when I ought to tell you about Merry.”
“What about the dear child?” asked her mother. “Isn’t she well?”
“Absolutely and perfectly well, but our dear little girl is consumed by the fever of discontent.”
“My dear, you must be mistaken.”
“I am not. Listen, and I will tell you what has happened.” 42