“I want to go there,” she said. “I want to leave here. I want chickens and cows and more dogs.”
“You’d miss this life,” he said curtly.
“No, no, I would not. I long for the country—the real country—let Grandmother have this house.”
“Well, ain’t she the ice-chest,” observed Gringo severely.
Mr. Bonstone’s eyes were going round the room. I felt what he was thinking of. Worldly-wise old Mrs. Resterton would be enchanted to preside over this mansion.
“If she comes here,” he said at last, “you must come, too, when you like. You are a city girl, the country will bore you after a time.”
She made an impatient gesture. “You don’t understand. I like what you like. You despise bricks and mortar, I despise them.”
“Suppose I haven’t money enough to run two houses,” he said.
“I don’t care—I can work,” and she opened out her two tiny hands.
Mr. Bonstone said nothing, and looked down at Gringo.