The colour mounted to Geneviève’s face. It had hardly required this to strengthen her decision.
“But we had not thought of a separation so soon,” said Monsieur Casalis with a sigh. “Reflect well, my child. Thou art of an age to judge for thyself. The proposal, as says thy mother, is a kind one and may offer advantages for thy future. But it may probably separate thee for long, perhaps for ever, from thy family. What sayest thou?”
The tears were in the mother’s eyes, but she wiped them away hastily. Geneviève did not see them; she was looking down, apparently in deep consideration. Then she said sweetly,
“It seems to me, dear father, I have hardly the right to refuse, since mamma and you consent. It is not only for myself. I must think also of my brothers and Eudoxie. In accepting the offer of Madame Methvyn, I may be able to help them in the future. It would also be a comfort to my mother and you to reflect that one of your children was no longer dependent only on your care.”
“It is true,” said the pasteur, but his wife said nothing.
The advantages of Mrs. Methvyn’s proposal were obvious, for besides what Madame Casalis had read to her daughter, the letter contained a very distinct promise that should the offer be accepted, Geneviève’s future should be considered. “We are rich,” wrote the English lady, “and we have few relations. I should like to feel that I had done something for you, Caroline. You are the only representative left of my dear mother’s family.”
So Caroline Casalis dared not take upon herself the responsibility of refusing, or advising her child to refuse, so generous a proposal. Neither could she bring herself to urge its acceptance. But what would she not have given had Geneviève thrown herself upon her neck and sobbed out her grief at the thought of separation?
As it was, the consultation ended with the young girl’s kissing her parents prettily and properly, with the slightest possible suspicion of tears in her eyes, and tremble in her voice as she thanked them for their bonté in allowing her to decide for herself, and expressed her hopes that they would find her digne of their parental love and approbation. Already in her tone there was a slight savour of independence, of her old child life being a thing of the past.
And it was quite decided that she should go to England at the time named by her mother’s cousin. So for the next few weeks there was question not of one, but of several new robes d’été. Only somewhat to Geneviève’s annoyance, they had to be all of half-mourning!