“Why should my aunt wish to see it?” she said sharply. “You forget Ella, that she knew this house long before any of us were heard of. It was her own old home.”
Ella’s eyes opened in genuine astonishment.
“I didn’t know—I can’t understand,” she said. “Was your unmarried name St Quentin, then, god—Lady Cheynes I mean?”
“No, for in that case I should be your aunt, my dear, which I am not. All the same this was my home, for Coombesthorpe at that time belonged to my father. But why do you call me Lady Cheynes? Why not godmother, as in your letters?”
Ella’s eyes sparkled. “That’s one for Madelene,” she would have said had she been acquainted with schoolboy language. “I wasn’t sure,” she began.
“Don’t be afraid of putting the blame on me,” interrupted Madelene. “It was I, Aunt Anna, that told Ella it was better to call you by your name unless you wished her to do otherwise.”
Lady Cheynes smiled.
“Call me godmother then,” she said, “though I warn you, Ella, I mean to take all a godmother’s privileges. I shall—well—pet you if you are a good girl, but—I can scold too,” and she knitted her brows, without much effect however, as her bright eyes had plenty of fun in them.
“I’m not afraid, godmother—not a bit,” said Ella laughing.
“Why can she not be like that to us?” thought Madelene regretfully.