"Will she settle down, do you think?" asked the vicar.
There was a tolerant, complacent smile. "My darling boy, I have trained five, and why not a sixth?"
The vicar did not contradict her; he merely asked:
"Did she tell you what her letter contained?"
"She said she had not opened it yet, which I fear must have been a—a—tarradidle"—Mrs. Cooper went, through certain evolutions of lips and eyes, intended as a mute apology for her use of a word so shocking—"but she said she felt sure it was only to say that, if she is not happy here, the writer had a home waiting for her."
"Preposterous nonsense! She is a child, and the man probably a savage," said the vicar, with some bitterness. "Picture Maddie or Gwen receiving a note of the kind!"
But when Millie did open Bert's letter, the contents were of a wholly different nature from what she had expected.
It merely contained a brief announcement of the fact that he had enlisted in that regiment of scouts which later was known to fame as Lacy's Lions.
In the schoolroom, the knowledge that Melicent had stood firm communicated an electrical excitement to the atmosphere. The idea of possible revolt opened prospects of which nobody had as yet dared to think. Unconsciously to themselves, her cousins already regarded her as a strike-leader—a Moses who should lead them out of the house of bondage.
And yet no creature could have been less anxious for revolt than this girl. Her one desire was to fall upon knowledge and devour it. She was ready to become the slave of anyone who would teach her.