When Tom had become dear as a son to her, fears would sometimes rise that his claim to Woodcote might one day be disputed; but as the quiet years went on these fears ceased to present themselves, and when Pauline mentioned Rhoda Sampson the name had gone through her like a knife. She tried—she had been trying ever since—to tell herself that it was impossible it could be James Sampson’s child, but the terror had laid fast hold of her, and she could not shake it off. It was as James Sampson’s child she had always thought of her niece. Her heart had refused to give her the place Lydia’s little girl had a right to claim. She could not think of her as Lydia’s.
Tom had not noticed his aunt’s agitation at the mention of her sister’s name. He went on speaking of his visit to Broadhurst.
“They want you to spend a day or two there next week, Rosie. Mr. Powell has asked Laura to sing at the concert, and she wants to practise with you.”
Rose’s pretty face clouded over. “But I am going to stay with Pauline next week. And I wish people wouldn’t ask Laura to sing in public. She can’t sing.”
“It’s a pleasure to listen to her, though,” returned Tom sturdily. “We aren’t all as critical as you, Rosie; and our Parish Room isn’t the Albert Hall. You had much better go to Broadhurst than to Chelsea. Miss Smythe and Miss Desborough live in two cupboards up among the clouds, don’t they?”
“It isn’t quite as bad as that, my dear,” broke in Miss Merivale, as she saw Rose’s vexed expression. “I promised that Rose should stay with them for a day or two. I thought that if you went up to Joachim’s concert you might leave Rose behind, and fetch her next day.”
“But, Aunt Lucy, Pauline said a week!” exclaimed Rose in dismay. “We could do nothing in a day. And we want to do so much. Time always flies so fast in London. One lives there.”
“We only vegetate here, eh, Rosie?” said Tom in a tone of good-humoured banter. “Was Wordsworth a vegetable too? He lived in the country, you know.”
But Rose refused to answer this. “Aunt Lucy, I may stay longer than a day, may I not?”
“Yes, dear, of course. Don’t mind Tom’s teasing. I must go up to town again to-morrow, I find, and I will call at Cadogan Mansions and see Miss Smythe for you. And I can get your seeds, Tom.”