But it is tea-time now." "Oh, what a nuisance! I can go out afterwards, though." "Yes, I dare say Maurice will walk with you." "Mamma, I think I shall go to bed." "In the meantime sit down here and talk to me." She dropped down on the floor, and laid her head on her mother's lap.
"Talk to me, mamma.

Talk about England." An old, old theme.

Mother and daughter had talked about England, the far-away Mother Land, many many hours full of pleasure to both; to one the subject had all the enchantment of a fairy tale, to the other of the tenderest and sweetest recollections.

Lucia had heard, over and over again, each detail of the landscape, each incident in the history, of her mother's birthplace; she knew the gentle invalid mistress and the kind stern master, her grandfather and grandmother; she had loved to gather into her garden the flowers which had grown about the grey walls of the old house by the Dee; the one wish she had cherished from a child was to see with living eyes all that was so familiar to her fancy.

But to-day, though she said, "Talk about England," it was not of all this she wished to hear; and an instinctive feeling that it was not, kept Mrs.Costello from speaking.