'Mamma,' said Jacinth softly and half timidly, when a quarter of an hour or so later they were wending their way home relieved of their packages, through the muddy streets—'mamma, do you know that what she said—old Mrs Burton, I mean—about the two kinds of honesty has helped to—to make me understand better than I did before what papa felt, and you too, of course, about—about Lady Myrtle and the Harpers, you know.'
Mrs Mildmay, in spite of the rain and her umbrella, managed to give Jacinth's arm a little loving squeeze.
'I am so glad, so very glad, dear,' she said.
'Mamma,' said Jacinth, again, after a little silence, in a more assured voice this time, 'if papa had been in Mr Fairfield's place, he would have done just like him, wouldn't he?'
'I am quite sure he would,' agreed her mother.
And notwithstanding the cold and the rain and the grimness of everything, I think Jacinth felt happier that day than since they had come to Barmettle.
A day or two later another little event helped to confirm Jacinth's better and truer views of her great disappointment. This was the arrival of a letter for Frances, forwarded from Thetford by their Aunt Alison.
'A letter for me!' exclaimed the little girl, when at the breakfast-table her mother handed it to her. 'Whom can it be from? I hardly ever get any letters.' But as her eye fell on the address her face flushed and brightened.
'Oh, I do believe,' she said, 'I do believe it's from Bessie—Bessie Harper. And of course she'd have to send it to Aunt Alison's; she doesn't know we've left Thetford.'
'I'm not so sure of that,' said Mrs Mildmay. 'When I wrote to Mrs Lyle some time ago, I told her we were coming to Barmettle, but very likely she did not think of sending our address to her nieces, for they have not been in the habit of writing to you or Jacinth.'