"It is true, my dear; but do not think any more of what I said."
But Susan, who was well-principled, though not of a very tender or sympathising nature, turned again, still with her hand on the door-handle.
"Aunt," she said, "you have a right to be consulted—even to be fanciful if you choose. You have been very good to me, very good to Gladys and Roger, and I have no doubt you were very good to their father long ago. If it would be a comfort to you, let me do it—let me write to Wilfred Bertram and ask him to come here, as you say, to fetch the children himself."
Mrs. Lacy reflected a moment. Then, as had been her habit all her life, she decided on self-denial.
"No, my dear Susan," she said firmly. "Thank you for proposing it, but it is better not. Wilfred has not thought of it, or perhaps he has thought of it and decided against it. It would be additional expense for him, and he has to think of that—then it would give you much more to do, and you have enough."
"I don't mind about that," said Susan.
"And then, too," went on Mrs. Lacy, "there is his health. Evidently it will be better for him not to come so far north so late in the year."
"Yes," said Susan, "that is true."
"So think no more about it, my dear, and thank you for your patience with a silly old woman."
Susan stooped and kissed her aunt, which from her meant a good deal. Then, her conscience quite at rest, she got ready to go to see Mrs. Murray at once.