'Oh no,' I replied. 'I was very happy alone with grandmamma, except for always thinking they were coming, and fancying she didn't—that she was beginning not to care for me. But—I am sorry now, Kezia, for not having trusted her.'
'That's right, my dear; and you'll show it by giving in cheerfully to whatever your dear grandmamma thinks best for you?'
I was still crying—but quite quietly.
'I'll—I'll try,' I whispered.
When I was dressed I went downstairs, not sorry to feel I should find the boys there. And in spite of the fears as to the future that were hanging over me I managed to spend a happy day with them. They did everything they could to cheer me up, and the more I saw of Harry the more I began to realise how very, very much brighter a life mine had been than his—how ungrateful I had been and how selfish. It was worse for him than for Lindsay, who was quite a child, and who looked to Harry for everything. And yet Harry made no complaints—he only said once or twice, when we were talking about grandmamma, that he did wish she was their grandmother, too.
'Wasn't that old lady you lived with before like a grandmother?' I asked.
Harry shook his head.
'We scarcely ever saw her,' he said. 'She was very old and ill, and even when we did go to her for the holidays we only saw her to say good-morning and good-night. On the whole we were glad to stay on at school.'
Poor fellows—they had indeed been orphans.
We wandered about the little garden, and all my old haunts. But for my terrible anxiety, I should have enjoyed it thoroughly.