“My own dear girl,” it said,—“my dearest girl,—for no daughter could ever be so dear to me as you will be, Nan, for my boy’s sake, and because he loves you so.” (“You are right there, mother!” struck in Dick, in a tone of ecstasy.) “Everything has come right, through Sir Henry’s intercession and my Richard’s goodness.” (“Humph!” coughed Dick. “Well, it is not for the like of me to contradict you.”)
“You are to come to us—at once—at once,”—underlined,—“for Dick will be going back to Oxford, so there is no time to lose; and you have not got any good of your engagement yet.” (“Only just at that last moment,” muttered her son at this.)
“My precious boy looks so happy that I could cry with joy to see him.” (“Oh, shut up, mother! Nan knows all that.”) “And his dear father looks as pleased as possible, and he sends his love.” (“He did indeed, Dick,” as an incredulous sound broke from his lips), “and he says bygones are bygones. And you are on no account to feel yourself awkward as regards him, for of course Dick’s fiancee” (“Are you sure that is spelt right, Dick?”) “will bring her own welcome. Is not that a sweet speech for my Richard to say? So you will come, my dear, will you not? And I remain, just what I always was, my Nan’s loving friend,
“Bessie Mayne.”
And then the letter was carefully consigned to Dick’s pocket, and in due course of time was delivered into Nan’s fair hands. 328