“What a shame!” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir settled herself more comfortably in her chair, still smiling. “But you see, she’s getting rather an old lady now, and she can hardly be expected to write to little boys!”
“She promised me she would always answer me if I wrote to her!” said Boy, his small mouth set and stern, and his eyes looking quite tired and pained—“She promised!”
“And you believed her?” his mother queried carelessly. “Poor dear child! Yes, of course! So nice of you! But you will have to learn, dear, as you grow older, that people don’t always keep their promises!”
“I can’t think Miss Letty would ever break hers!” said Boy slowly.
His mother laughed unkindly.
“What a touching faith you have in her!” she said, and laughed again. “Such a little boy!—and quite in love with such an old lady! Oh, go along, Boy! Don’t be silly! You really are too absurd! Miss Letty has got quite enough to do with counting up her money and looking after the interest of it, without bothering to write to you!”
“Is she very rich?” asked Boy suddenly.
“Rich? I should think she is indeed! Do you know”—and she smiled blandly—“she wanted to give you all the money she has got!”
“Me!” exclaimed Boy, and stared breathlessly.
“Yes—you! But then you would have had to go away from me, and be like her son instead of mine! That would have been quite dreadful! And of course I could not have allowed such a thing!”