Frances was not quite certain of this, but there was no doubt about her pleasure in her new relative; and when her father went home with his aunt she was rather impatient at not being allowed to go too.
"Come sit beside me, Wink, and have a little talk," Mrs. Morrison suggested when they were alone.
Frances came and nestled down beside her mother; the day had been so full of excitement she found it hard work to keep still.
"You know, dear, that Aunt Frances and father have not seen each other for years,—not since before you were born,—and of course they have a great deal to say to each other. There was some trouble—a misunderstanding—but now it is over—"
"They have found the bridge like Gladys and me," Frances put in.
"Yes; but what I was going to say is this: we mustn't be selfish. We must let Aunt Frances have father to herself sometimes. Don't you think so?"
As they sat quietly there in the twilight Mrs. Morrison saw opening before her a path she would not have chosen. She was a person of simple tastes and wide sympathies, and the world of wealth and convention to which her husband would return so naturally had few attractions for her. She would have need of love and courage, she told herself.
"What do you think, Kate; auntie wants me to take you to New York with me and leave Frances with her!" said Mr. Morrison, coming in.
"She has never been away from me in her life. What do you say, Wink?" and her mother lifted the face that rested against her shoulder and kissed it.
"I don't know; I believe I'd like it, for then I could see the little girl every day," was the reply.