'Do you really mean, grandmamma,' I said, 'that—that you are thinking of going there soon?'
'Very soon,' she answered, 'almost at once. It may get cold and wintry here any day, and besides that, my nephew is very anxious to settle his own plans as quickly as possible.'
I said nothing for a minute or two. In my heart I was not at all sorry at the prospect of a winter in London, even though I naturally shrank from leaving dear old Windy Gap, the only home I had ever known. But the sort of spoilt way I had got into kept me from expressing the pleasure I felt—that one side of me felt, anyway.
'I don't believe he cares about us,' I said at last rather grumpily. 'I am sure he is a very selfish man.'
Grandmamma looked distressed, but she was wise, too. She saw I was really inclined to be 'naughty' about it.
'Helena, my dearest child,' she said, and though she spoke most kindly I heard by her voice that she would be firm, 'you must not yield to prejudice, and you must trust me. This invitation is the very best thing that could have come to us at present, and I am deeply grateful for it. It is rather startling, I know, but there should be a good deal of pleasure for you in our new prospects. And I am sure you will see this in a day or two. Now go to bed, my darling. To-morrow we shall have a great deal to talk over, and you must keep well and strong so as to be able to help me.'
She kissed me tenderly, and I whispered 'Good-night, dear grandmamma,' gently and affectionately.
But as soon as I got upstairs and was alone in my own little room, I burst into tears. I daresay it was only natural. Still, I see now that my feelings were not altogether what they should have been. There was a great deal of selfishness and spoiltness mixed up with them.
After that evening I have rather a confused remembrance of the next two or three weeks. Things seemed to hurry on in a bewildering way, and of course it was all the more bewildering to me, as I had never known any change or uprooting of the kind in my life.