Mrs. Worsley did not answer directly. She showed her sympathy by drawing Annette to her side, and holding her in an affectionate embrace. At length she said, "It does seem rather hard for you to be left alone in this way, darling."
"I was not thinking of that. Indeed, I have now the most delightful companion," and she lifted her honest face to Mrs. Worsley's for a kiss. "And I mean to make the most of my privileges, before I assume my role of Cinderella during the cleaning down season. Of course it would be impossible for you to stay in the midst of a muddle, aunty."
"Quite, Nettie; I shall stay until Saturday, and when the boys' backs are turned, I must turn mine."
Annette's countenance fell.
"Do you know," she said, "I was just wondering if it would be possible to keep a little nook, a sort of small house in a large house, comfortable enough to induce you to stay another week. Cinderella grieves at the thought of so soon parting with her fairy godmother."
"I am afraid it would be as impossible for me to remain as to exercise the powers of a fairy godmother, Nettie. Now if I could dress you in all sorts of braveries with a mere touch of my wand, and send you out to meet the prince, with the retinue of a princess, I might deserve the name."
"I should not like you to do it if you could. I hate shams of every kind, and I have already had too long an experience of them. Some Cinderellas would ride with a light heart in a carriage that might at any moment turn into a pumpkin again, but not your Cinderella, godmother dear."
The young lips quivered, and Annette, while smiling bravely into Mrs. Worsley's face, had to turn aside to brush away a rebellious tear.
To lead the girl's thoughts to something pleasanter, the visitor suggested a stroll through the grounds. "I thought I had never seen them look so beautiful," she said. "How you must revel amongst fruit and flowers!"
"Shams again, aunty. Not the fruit and flowers; they are provokingly real, but only to be revelled in by two senses—those of sight and smell. The grounds are let out to a gardener and florist, who pays a rent for them. It is true that fruit and vegetables, to a certain weekly market value, are bargained for, and our table is fairly supplied; but each article is sent in by mamma's tenant. We cannot bestow a bouquet on a friend, or give one permission to cull blossom or fruit for herself. The addition to the income is very useful, and supplies more shams, but this state of things is dreadful when one thinks of what used to be. Stay, though, aunty, I stood out for my own garden—the plot I called mine when I was a tiny toddles, and mamma had not the heart to take it from me. In it are some old-fashioned flowers, a wealth of ivy on the wall, and some lovely yellow gooseberries with a flavour better than that of half the grapes grown in the houses."