“Ever so many,” Norah said. “And Michael will be a darling: and we’ll all sleep together in one big room, and have pillow-fights!”
“You had certainly better come soon, before your family’s manners become ruined, Mrs. Hunt,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “Then you can really manage to get away to-morrow? Very well—I’ll call for you about five, if that will do.”
“Yes; that will give me time to see Douglas first.”
“But you won’t tell him anything?”
“Oh, no: he would only worry. Of course, Mr. Linton, I shall be able to get up to see him every day?”
“We’re less than an hour by rail,” he told her. “And the trains are good. Now I think you had better pack up those youngsters, and I’ll get a taxi.”
Norah helped to pack the little clothes, trying hard to remember instructions as to food and insistence on good manners.
“Oh, I know you’ll spoil them,” said Mrs. Hunt resignedly. “Poor mites, they could do with a bit of spoiling: they have had a dreary year. But I think they will be good: they have been away with my sister sometimes, and she gives them a good character.”
The children said good-bye to their mother gaily enough: the ride in the motor was sufficient excitement to smooth out any momentary dismay at parting. Only Geoffrey sat up very straight, with his lips tightly pressed together. He leaned from the window—Norah gripping his coat anxiously.
“You’ll be true-certain to come to-morrow, Mother?”