“Oh! mother! I should so like it.” Marion held out her hand for the letter, but her mother did not offer it to her; she read bits of it here and there instead.
“‘I have said nothing about it to Jean, and shall not till I hear from you. They would likely set off at once if you would promise to let Marion come to me, and that would please you, though—’
“‘If you decide to let her come, she might travel here with young Mr Petrie, who, I hear, is soon to be in London. Though I think myself it might be better for her to come at once, in the company of my brother, who will not likely stay much longer.’”
“Oh, mother! I should so like to go. And is that all that Miss Jean says?”
“All she says about your visit.”
“You don’t wish me to go. Why, mother? It is nae surely that you canna trust me so far away? I am not more foolish than other girls, am I?”
Mrs Calderwood looked at her a moment as though she did not understand what she was saying. Then she laughed and kissed her.
“Nonsense! dear. You are a sensible lassie and discreet. I would be sorry to disappoint Miss Jean, though she has friends enough in Portie one would think. But it is the first favour she has ever asked of me, and many a one she has done me.”
“But, mother, I think this is a favour to us—to me at least. Oh! it seems too good to be true.”
“Well, we will think about it.”