Madelene started. Her aunt patted her hand gently.
“Don’t be shocked at my alluding to such a possibility,” she said. “I know your father and Ellen would like you to understand all. So much hangs on you, Maddie. It is to you Ellen confides your father, and that is one of her great reasons for wishing the child to be away. It would be too much upon you. I see that myself. You would have to get a first-rate nursery-governess, or some one of that kind, or, worst of all, you might be bound to keep Harvey.”
“But Harvey will stay with her as it is—stay and do her best to poison our little sister against us,” said Madelene. “For you see, aunt, the—the position will be rather an awkward one afterwards, when we are all grown-up, I mean. And Ella must come back to her own home, some time.”
“If she lives,” said Lady Cheynes, “but that is another point. Ellen may be fanciful—I hardly agree with her myself; her own illness seems to me accidental. Her family is strong, but, rightly or wrongly, she thinks Ella very delicate. And Mrs Robertson lives in a mild climate and would take the child abroad if necessary. In that way there is something to be said in favour of the plan.”
“Yes,” said Madelene, but she still sighed. “Aunt Anna,” she added in a moment or two, “I will try and bear the disappointment well, and be as cheerful as I can with poor mamma, for—for the little while that remains.”
“Yes, dear, I am sure you will. Now, perhaps, we had better call in Ermine and Philip—he is anxious to see all he can of you before he goes. And next week Bernard will be here—they will go back to school together.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Madelene, “I am so glad Bernard is coming. Ermie and I have always wished so to see him. Only—everything is so sad here just now,” and she hesitated.
“You and Ermie must come over once or twice to spend a day with us while the boys are still here. Ellen would like it—she was saying only yesterday how unhappy it makes her to see your young lives so saddened.”
“Poor mamma, she is very unselfish,” said Madelene.
Then Lady Cheynes got up, and followed by her grand-niece, made her way out of the room, down a long passage with a glass door at the end leading into the garden, where for a moment she stood looking out.