Even Aunt Mary laughed.
“Peter,” asked Honora, “can't you get Judge Brice to send you on to New York this winter on law business? Then you could come up to Sutcliffe to see me.”
“I'm afraid of Miss Turner,” declared Peter.
“Oh, she wouldn't mind you,” exclaimed Honora. “I could say you were an uncle. It would be almost true. And perhaps she would let you take me down to New York for a matinee.”
“And how about my ready-made clothes?” he said, looking down at her. He had never forgotten that.
Honora laughed.
“You don't seem a bit sorry that I'm going,” she replied, a little breathlessly. “You know I'd be glad to see you, if you were in rags.”
“All aboard!” cried the porter, grinning sympathetically.
Honora threw her arms around Aunt Mary and clung to her. How small and frail she was! Somehow Honora had never realized it in all her life before.
“Good-by, darling, and remember to put on your thick clothes on the cool days, and write when you get to New York.”