“A pleasant evening, my dearests?” she asked. That was all, but her voice gave Jane a swift glow of hope that sent her to her mother’s clasp.
They settled themselves beside the fire, which Win replenished.
Obedient to Mrs. Garden’s expressed wish, Lord Kelmscourt talked chiefly to Mary, drawing her out, that he might tell his sister how lovely was this eldest child of her friend, whose talents had once delighted that other world which Lynette Devon had forsaken. After a quiet and pleasant hour, in which Mary found pleasure, and Jane and Florimel plucked up heart, they could not have said why, Lord Kelmscourt begged to be allowed to say good-night.
“I am to spend to-morrow here; Mrs. Garden has kindly urged it, and I am promised to be allowed to drive the car many miles, to see as much as I can of this part of your great state. Then I go home to England, carrying ineffaceable memories of the only American family I know in its home, and of these three girls whom, I am proud to remember, England may claim a share in, as she gave them their mother,” he said. The little speech had a formality about it that did not prevent its ringing sincere. It also conveyed to the three girls, distinctly, the impression of a valedictory.
When Win had gone with Lord Kelmscourt to his room, Mary, Jane, and Florimel turned with mute insistence to their mother. They did not speak, except through their imploring eyes. Mrs. Garden went to them, holding out her hands, with her pretty grace, half crying, half laughing.
“You were horribly frightened, weren’t you, my treasures?” she cried. “Once I could not have believed that I should have refused the shelter, the honour of that good man’s love, nor the rank and luxury he would give me. But I have found out what it means to be a mother, my little lassies! I could not be less your mother, could not leave you again, to mount the throne! Let me stay close to you always, my darlings, for every day I shall love you better and grow a better woman in my home. Oh, children, when I thought I might lose Mary, then I saw, I saw! I couldn’t be Lady Kelmscourt, dearests, because I want to be nothing and nobody on all the earth but just the Garden girls’ little madrina!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“RICH WITH THE SPOILS OF NATURE”
“It certainly is convenient to be grown up,” said Florimel, when the entire family had returned from bidding Lord Kelmscourt a final good-bye at the station. He was gone forever, and, inconsistently, the three girls were truly sorry. He had been so kind, so self-effacing, his trustworthiness was so evident in driving the car, and in looking after its occupants, that if there had been any way of holding him, while at the same time holding him off—from step-fatherhood—the Garden girls would have been delighted to have added him permanently to their lives.
“It’s quite as convenient to be a little short of grown up, often, Mellie. What are you thinking of that makes you say that?” asked Mary, rapidly divesting herself of her gown, and getting into a soft blue lounging gown, as a preparation for throwing herself across the foot of the bed for an hour’s rest before supper.