"But you want to go to school, don't you, and see other girls?" he
asked.
She shook her head decidedly.
"It will break my heart," she said quietly, "to leave Tredowen. I
think that if I have to go away from the pictures and the garden, and
the sea, I shall never be happy any more."
"You are a child," he remarked contemptuously; "you do not understand.
If you go away, you can learn to paint pictures yourself like those at
Tredowen. You will find that the world is full of other beautiful
places!"
The sympathetic aspect of his words was altogether destroyed by the
thin note of careless irony, which even the child understood. She felt
that he was mocking her.
"I could never be happy," she said simply, "away from Tredowen. You
understand, don't you?" she added, turning confidentially to
Aynesworth.
"You think so now, dear," he said, "but remember that you are very
young. There are many things for you to learn before you grow up."
"I am not a dunce," she replied. "I can talk French and German, and do
arithmetic, and play the organ. Father used to teach me these things.
I can learn at Tredowen very well. I hope that my friends will let me
stay here."
Wingrave took no more notice of her. She and Aynesworth walked
together to the station. As they passed the little whitewashed
cottage, she suddenly let go his hand, and darted inside.
"Wait one moment," she cried breathlessly.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89