“Certainly not,” he replied. “I saw John last week, and he never mentioned either of your pets, though I do not doubt that he has taken good care of them. Very likely your father did not wish you to be told much about them, lest the news should unsettle you.”
“Yes, of course. That is the true explanation of the case. My father was actuated by tender regard for my feelings, and I ought to feel proportionately grateful. But, somehow, I don’t feel particularly moved in the direction of gratitude, and the sooner I am away from the neighborhood of Courtney Grange the better. I shall not regret my absence from it now, since my presence near it could only foster painful memories. The past is dead, and I must let my dead past bury its dead.”
“You have youth and energy on your side, my dear. I predict that in six months you will yearn for your old home again and be as happy as ever here.”
“Never! You do not know me, Mr. Garth. My experiences since I went to London have been such as to develop and increase the latent passions of my childhood, besides endowing me with others toward which I never suspected myself to have a leaning. Among the latter are self-reliance, independence, and firmness of purpose. They alone will forbid my early return to the Grange.”
“Well, I will not argue the point with you, child, as of course you know more about the matter than I do. But has it struck you that while we have been lingering at the Grange, time has been flying, and that you have missed the 12:50 train for London? You will have to put off your journey until morning, as the next train from here arrives in London too late to enable you to call at Madame Kominski’s house this evening.”
“Then what shall I do? How soon can I get there in the morning?”
“If you do not mind rising early, you can leave by the 6:30 A.M. train. That will land you in Kensington in good time.”
“If you and Mrs. Garth—”
“Pray don’t mention it, child. We are only too happy to do what we can for you. Oh, there they all are!”
“They” of whom he spoke were Mrs. Garth, Mrs. Marshall and Miss Morris, who were walking leisurely toward us, their hands full of wild roses and honeysuckle, which they had been pulling in the hedgerows. Master Vinnie was skipping alone in front, and having an occasional race with Leo, a splendid St. Bernard, who looked as wise as any of us.