“Oh, wise young judge!” sighed Mr Rayner sadly. “How easy it is to be resigned for another person. But you are quite right; don’t think that I am disputing the wisdom of what you say. I should be happier if I faced the thing once for all, and made up my mind as to what I can and cannot do. Well—Miss Carr told me her plans last night. If you come to London, you must keep me up to the mark. I shall hope to see a great deal of you, and if you find me attempting ridiculous things, such as that ladder business to-day, you must just—what is it I am supposed to have done?—‘snub’ me severely as a punishment.”
Hilary smiled with two-fold satisfaction. So Mr Rayner agreed with her in believing that Miss Carr’s choice was practically certain. The prospect of living in London grew more and more attractive as the various advantages suggested themselves, and she was roll of delicious anticipations.
“Oh, I will,” she said merrily. “I am glad that I did not know you before you were ill, because I see no difference now, and I can do it more easily. I think I am like the Mouse; I like you better for being different from other people. She spent a whole morning searching for twigs in the garden, and now all her dolls are supplied with crutches.”
“Dear little mortal! I never met a sweeter child,” cried Mr Rayner, and the conversation branched off to treat of Geraldine and her pretty ways.
Chapter Fourteen.
The Wishing Gate.
Lunch was ready when the visitors reached the hotel at Grasmere, and as they were equally ready for lunch, they lost no time in seating themselves at the large table in the window, and making a vigorous attack upon rolls and butter. The other tables were well filled, and Hilary held up her head with complacent pride, while Lettice and Norah nudged each other to call attention to the glances of curiosity and interest which were directed towards their father.
“A party of Americans, and the waiter whispered to them as we passed. Oh, father, you are in for it! Now—I told you so! The one with the light hair is getting up. She is going upstairs to bring down the autograph albums. Wait till you’ve finished lunch, then it will be—‘Oh, Mr Bertrand, such an honour to meet you; would you be kind enough to write your name in my little book?’”