“No!” Mollie shook her head, half penitent, half amused. “Indeed such a thing never entered my mind. I was selfish enough to be thinking of myself—not you. Something is worrying me. May I sit down and talk to you about it, Uncle Bernard?”
She drew forward a chair even as she spoke, and Mr Farrell made no objection. The Times lay on his lap, his thin hands crossed above it, while his sunken eyes were fixed upon the girl’s face with a curious scrutiny.
“If it is any argument about going or staying, I have already explained—”
“Ah, but it isn’t! I am going to stay. I love staying! I don’t know when I have been so happy in my life as I’ve been to-day, wandering about this sweet old place. It was the most curious feeling this morning before you were down—like living in an enchanted castle where the owner had disappeared! When I gathered the flowers I felt quite like Beau—” She drew herself up sharply—“They were such lovely flowers!”
A short laugh proved that the interruption had come too late.
“As I said before, Miss Mary, you are not overburdened with modesty! I am obliged for my part of the simile!”
But the speaker’s eyes were twinkling with quite the most amiable expression Mollie had yet seen, and she laughed unabashed.
“Ah, well, one description is as exaggerated as the other. I didn’t mean to say it; it just popped out. You know that I didn’t mean to be rude. I wanted to speak to you about something very important—to us, at least. Ruth will be scandalised, but it’s bound to come out sooner or later, and I want to understand our position... We told you this morning that we proposed to learn riding.”
“You did.”
“And you made no objection.”