But the very defining her thoughts startled her. She knew she had no right to begin criticising her mother in this way, and she pulled herself up.
'Mamma,' she said, and her tone was both perfectly natural and simple, and more unconstrained than Mrs Mildmay had yet heard it—'mamma, isn't it really delightful, and isn't it almost wonderful that we should be all staying with Lady Myrtle and taking you to her? Isn't it really like a fairy story?'
'It is indeed,' said Mrs Mildmay. 'It is wonderful. The way that she seemed to start up just when—so soon after we had lost dear granny, and in a sense our home.'
'It would have been lovely, of course, for you to come back to us anyway,' said Frances, 'but it wouldn't have been so lovely if we'd all been going to Aunt Alison's. It's rather a poky place, you know, mamma, and in India I suppose the houses are all enormous. I can only remember like in a dream, about very big, very white rooms.'
'The last house we've had was far from enormous,' said her mother with a smile, 'still it was very nice. I often wished you and Jassie could have been with us there.'
'But—oh mamma, you'll never go back again,' pleaded Frances. 'We've got dear papa's coming to look forward to now, and after that—never mind where we live, if only we stay together.'
Mrs Mildmay smiled, though for the first time with a touch of sadness.
'Don't let us spoil to-day by looking forward, dear; except, as you say, to your father's coming. If he were here, everything would seem perfect.'
'And here's Robin Redbreast,' exclaimed Jacinth, as they turned the corner of the lane, 'and "Uncle Marmy's gates" wide open in your honour. Generally we drive in at the side. Now, mamma, take a good look. First impressions are everything, you know. Isn't this perfect?'
She seemed full of enthusiasm, which her mother was glad to see and quick to respond to.