“That’s seven,” was Rachel’s last word.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed her father. He looked across at Aunt Hester and laughed again. “How on earth have they learnt all that?”
“Mr. Sheston, I expect,” returned his sister. “He was always taking them to the British Museum.”
At the mention of the old man’s name, Rachel’s father glanced quickly at his little daughter, who returned the look with a smile.
“Mr. Sheston is a wonderful old boy, isn’t he, Rachel?” he remarked quietly.
“Oh, yes!... And, Dad,” she began, moving even closer to him. “It’s lovely to be going home, but I’ve enjoyed it awfully here with Aunt Hester, and Diana, and—Mr. Sheston. And it would be dreadful never to come back again. I may—some time or other—mayn’t I?” she begged earnestly.
“Oh, yes!” cried Diana, with equal fervour.
Rachel’s father put his arm round her.
“Of course you may,” he said, “if your aunt will have you.”