'Oh, I am so glad you think so,' she said. 'I scarcely liked to say it—it seems selfish—if it would save papa's going out again, and he has had so much of India; but it would be rather horrid, wouldn't it? And almost a come-down, it seems to me. The other appointment in London would be so much nicer, only living at all nicely in London is so dear, and the pay is smaller. Perhaps it will end after all in papa and mamma going back to India, and my joining them in two or three years.'
Lady Myrtle put out her hand, and clasped Jacinth's firmly in hers.
'No, my child,' she said. 'That must not be. I think when one gets as old as I am, one may be a little selfish; that is to say, if one's selfishness does no one any harm. And your parents have had enough of India; there can be no necessity for their return there, nor for your joining them. No, I could not consent to lose you again—the one thing that has been sent to cheer me! Put all such possibilities out of your mind, my Jacinth. I will write to your mother.'
'And what shall I say to her?' asked Jacinth. 'About all you have said, I mean.'
'Refer her to me. But tell her how you are all—we are all—counting on her coming first to Robin Redbreast, and that then we shall be able to talk over everything. Tell her I cannot consent to giving you up; tell her, as I hope you can, that this place is beginning to feel like home to you.'
'You know I feel it so, dear Lady Myrtle,' said Jacinth simply. 'I think I have been happier here already than I have ever been anywhere else. And I am so glad this news has come while we were here. It makes it doubly delightful. And we shall remember that it came to us here—this Christmas week.'
