"I wish I could," said Rose; "though I don't know whether I should get on with--with every one. But I can't; I am at school; is not that a shame, Georgy? And I am going out on a visit in a day or two."
A pause ensued. Georgy was silent, and breathing, oh, so quickly; Mrs. Darling stood as one not at ease; Charlotte, apathetical as ever, save for the restless fire in the eyes, was looking down into the street between the crimson curtains of the somewhat high salon. Presently George spoke, looking at Rose.
"I want to go back to Alnwick. I want Benja."
"Oh, child!" exclaimed Rose, in a sort of awe. "Benja is not there."
"He's gone to heaven," continued George; "but I might see him, you know. Mamma sees him sometimes. She saw him the other night when she cried out: she squeezed hold of me so that she hurt me."
Rose cast an involuntary glance at her impassive sister. Believe she saw a ghost!--she, Charlotte, the mocker! No, no; it could not have come to that.
"I should have all Benja's playthings; I should ride his pony," went on Georgy. "I should see Brave, Aunt Rose. I want to go home to Alnwick."
"And the best place for you, my little darling," answered Rose. "Charlotte, do you hear? This child says he would like to go back home. I'm sure I should think it is only the worry of his being hurried about so from place to place that makes him thin. He is nothing but a bag of bones."
"I have come to think that Alnwick is not healthy," observed Charlotte, with her usual equanimity. "All the St. Johns die there."
"Don't you intend to go back to it?" asked Rose, breathlessly.