A sort of mocking smile, covered on the instant by a sweet word, crossed my lady's lips.
"It was all very well," she said, "just what a good mother would write; but mademoiselle must write back, and explain that she was wanted yet for some weeks at the Red Court Farm."
"I cannot," said mademoiselle; "I wish I could. Miladi is very good to invite me; but my mother is my mother."
"You left your mother for seven years; she did well then."
"But, yes; that was different. Miladi can picture it. We have our ménage now."
"I have set my heart upon your coming to us, mademoiselle," was miladi's rejoinder, showing for a moment her white teeth.
"I should not need the pressing, if I could come," was the simple answer. "It is a holiday to me now to be at the Red Court Farm; but some things are practicable and others are not practicable, as miladi knows."
And the poor little governess in the cause of her mother was hard as adamant. They walked about until my lady's legs were tired, and then prepared to return.
"Of course you will come back with us, and dine for the last time?" said Mary Anne.
On any other occasion my lady might have interposed with an intimation that Mary Anne Thornycroft had no longer licence to invite whom she pleased to the table of the Red Court Farm. Without waiting for her to second the invitation, mademoiselle at once accepted it.