Mr. Cardew then related his brief interview with Merry, and Merry’s passionate desire to go to Aylmer House.
“And what did you say to her, love?” asked his wife.
“I told her it was impossible, of course.”
“But it really isn’t, dear, you know,” said Mrs. Cardew in a low tone; “and as you cannot make up your mind to live in London, those two vacancies at Aylmer House seem providential.”
At these words Mr. Cardew sprang to his feet. “Nothing will ever shake my opinion with regard to school-life,” he said.
“And yet the life in town––”
“That is impossible. Look me straight in the face, Sylvia. If by any chance—don’t, please, imagine that I’m giving way—but if, by any possible chance, I were to yield, could you, my darling, live without your girls?”
“With you—I could,” she answered, and she held out her hand to him, which he raised to his lips and kissed.
“Well, I am upset,” he said. “If only Miss Beverley and Bennett were not so silly, we should not be in this awkward fix. I’ll go for a ride, if you don’t mind, Sylvia, and be back with you in an hour’s time.”
During that ride Mr. Cardew felt as a strong man does when his most cherished wishes are opposed, and when circumstance, with its overpowering weight, bears down every objection. Beyond doubt the girls must be educated. Beyond doubt the scheme of living in London could not be entertained. Country life was essential. Meredith Manor must not be deserted for the greater part of the year. He might visit the girls whenever he went to London; but, after all, he was now more or less a sleeping partner in his great firm. There was no necessity for him to go to London more than four or five times a year. Oh! school was hateful, but little Merry had longed for it. How troublesome education was! Surely the girls knew enough.