'would have no objection to your coming, and if you both think you would like it, and will let me know as soon as possible, I will write to Miss Eccles and to Mr. Fanshaw, and try to get all arranged. I think you could safely make the journey alone, as there is no change from Paddington to Frewern Bay, where you leave the railway, and where I should meet you by the coach. Of course, had things been as we hoped, I should have sent some one to town to escort you, but that, alas! is now out of the question. With love to Kathleen, and hoping to hear from you very soon—Believe me, my dear Neville, your affectionate aunt,
'Clotilda Wynne Powys.'
'She writes as if she would have sent a couple of powdered footmen for us, doesn't she?' said Kathie. 'I say, Phil, it won't be very cheerful if she's going to go on groaning all the time over departed grandeur, will it? And I'm rather afraid about the'—Kathleen hesitated. She was in an excited, mischievous mood, and she wanted to shock Philippa by using slang. But she wasn't sure whether the proper expression for what she wanted to say was 'tuck,' or 'grub,' or 'prog,' or no one of the three, so she discreetly changed the form of the sentence. 'I've just a little misgiving that we shall not have enough to eat,' she went on. 'Do you suppose she'll give us porridge three times a day? I always think of porridge when people speak of living very simply.'
'Porridge is very good,' said Philippa; 'with cream I think it's'—
'Heavenly!' put in Kathie. 'Yes, so do I. For breakfast, that's to say. But for dinner and tea too! I warn you, Phil, if we go, and if we're starved, it'll all lie on your shoulders.'
Her voice was so solemn, and she put such an alarming expression into her face, that Philippa looked really frightened, and half ready to cry.
'I don't understand you, Kathie,' she said. 'I wish you wouldn't open your eyes at me like that. I think it's a very nice, kind letter, and I don't see why you turn everything into mocking. I can't think what makes you do it.'
Kathleen's face grew grave.
'I'm very sorry for vexing you, poor little Phil,' she said. 'I won't do it any more. But you needn't be vexed at my saying seriously, that I don't think I'd have wanted to go to Aunt Clotilda's but for your idea of hunting for the will. I'm sure she's very unhappy, and I daresay she'd rather not be bothered with us.'