He was silent, looking at her wistfully, and tugging at his white moustache.
“Letty, I say!” he broke out presently—“I’m getting an old man, you know,—I shall soon be turning up my toes to the daisies—will you not do me a kindness?”
“Why, of course I will if I can, Dick!” she answered readily—“What is it?”
“Come to America! There’s a little orphan niece of mine,—Violet Morrison—only child of my old pal Jack Morrison of the Guards—he married my youngest sister—both of ’em dead—and only this little girl left. She’s just twelve, and I want her to finish her education in America, where they honour bright women instead of despising them. But I don’t want to leave you behind. Come and play Auntie to her, will you?”
“Do you really want me?” Miss Leslie asked anxiously—“Should I be useful?”
“Useful! You would be worth more than your weight in gold—as you always are! Come and chaperone Violet—she hasn’t got a soul in the world except me to care a button for her. You’ll do no good brooding here by yourself in London, and wondering how Boy is getting on in France. You had much better come and be happy in giving happiness to others.”
“Do you think Boy might write to me?” she asked hesitatingly.
“He might—but it’s more than possible his letter would never reach you. And if you wrote to him, it’s ten to one whether your letter would ever reach him. They spy on boys in foreign schools, and report everything to their parents. Anyhow, if he did write to you here at this address, the letter would be forwarded. Don’t hesitate, Letty! Come to America and help me take care of Violet! Say yes!”
“When do you start?”
“In a week.”