“She is wonderfully so; my Annie’s little head is screwed the right way on her shoulders—not a doubt whatever on that point. But the thing is this. I can inquire of Mrs Lyttelton what she knows with regard to Lady Lushington. If matters are favourable the child shall go. Can anything be more reasonable?”
“In one sense, sir, nothing can be more reasonable; but in another, your making this condition forces poor Annie practically to give up her invitation.”
“Eh? How so? How so?”
“Well, you see, it is this way. If she cannot join Lady Lushington on Tuesday evening—that is, to-morrow—she cannot join her at all, for this lady is leaving Paris on the following day. Annie can either go with her or not go with her. There is, therefore, you will perceive, sir, no time to communicate with Mrs Lyttelton.”
“That is true,” said Mr Brooke. “But why didn’t Annie tell me so herself?”
“She couldn’t bear to worry you. Poor child! she was put out very much, but she meant to give up her visit rather than worry you.” Saxon wondered, as he was uttering the last words, if he were straining at the truth. He continued now abruptly: “And that is not all. From what your niece tells me, she goes, or hopes to go, to Paris for a very different reason from mere selfish pleasure. There is a young friend of hers whom she hopes most seriously to benefit by this visit. She will not tell me how, but she assures me emphatically that it is so.”
“Dear, dear!” said the old man. “Sweet of her! sweet of her! And you think—you really think I ought to waive my objection and trust my child?”
“She earnestly hopes that you will do so, sir—that you will permit her at least to go for a day or two, and then recall her if it is essential.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that; I wouldn’t for a moment be so selfish.”
“But she herself would wish to come back to you if you were really indisposed.”