The Major’s tender heart was troubled, but he would not offer his friend any consolation,—he knew that the least said the soonest mended in such cases,—and he saw that Miss Letty was just then too vexed and grieved to bear many words even from him. So he went in to Boy, and wound up his clockwork ‘merry-go-round’ for him, and told him fabulous stories of giants,—giants who, though terrible enough to hold the world in awe, were yet unable to resist the fascinations of “hasty pudding,” and killed themselves by eating too much of that delicacy in an unguarded moment. Which remarkable narratives, in their grotesque incongruity, conveyed the true lesson that a strong or giant mind may be frequently destroyed by indulgence in one vice; though Boy was too young to look for morals in fairy legends, and accepted these exciting histories as veracious facts. And so the morning passed pleasantly after all,—though now and then a wistful look came into Boy’s eyes, and a shadow crossed the placid fairness of “Kiss-Letty’s” brow when either of the two chanced to think of the coming parting from each other. Boy however did not imagine it so much of a parting as Miss Letty knew it would be; he had a firm belief that though he was going home to “Muzzy” he should still see a great deal of his “Kiss-Letty” all the same. She on the contrary knew enough of Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s obstinate disposition to be quite certain of the fact that because a hint had been thrown out by Major Desmond as to the advantages of her adopting Boy, she would be forced to see less of him than ever. Strange it is, and in a manner terrible, that the future of a whole life should be suspended thus between two human wills!—the one working for pure beneficence, the other for selfishness, and that the selfish side should win the day! These are mysteries which none can fathom; but it too often happens that a man’s career has been decided for good or evil by the amenities or discords of his parents, and their quarrels or agreements as to the manner of his education.
It was with a sad and sinking heart that Miss Leslie took Boy accompanied by the faithful “Dunny” back to the home of his progenitors that afternoon. He had more luggage to carry away than he had arrived with—a brown paper parcel would not hold his numerous toys, nor the pretty little suits of clothes his kind hostess had presented him with. So Major Desmond bought him an astonishingly smart portmanteau, which fairly dazzled him, and into this most of his new things were packed by Margaret, who was sincerely sorry to lose her little charge. The ‘merry-go-round,’ being a Parisian marvel of clockwork, had a special case of its own, and “Dunny”!—well, “Dunny” was a privileged Cow, and Boy always carried it in his arms. And thus he returned, Biblically speaking, to the home of his fathers,—the house in Hereford Square, and his large “Muzzy” received him with an almost dramatic effusiveness.
“You poor child!” she exclaimed. “How badly your hair has been brushed! Oh dear!—it’s becoming a perfect mop! We must have it cut to-morrow.”
Miss Leslie’s cheeks reddened slightly.
“Surely you will not have his curls cut yet?” she began.
“My dear Letitia, I know best,” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with an irritating air of smiling condescension. “A boy—even a very young boy—looks absurd with long hair. You have been very kind and nice to him, I am sure,—but of course you don’t quite understand——”
Miss Leslie sat down opposite her with a curiously quiet air of deliberation.
“I wish to speak to you for a few minutes,” she said. “Is your husband at home?”
“No. He has gone into the country for a few days. I am quite lonely!” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir heaved a lazy smile. “I felt I could not possibly be a day longer without my son in the house.”
The extraordinary air of grandiloquence she gave to the words “my son in the house,” applied to a child of barely four years old, would have made Miss Leslie laugh at any other time, but she was too preoccupied just now to even smile.