She did not mention the letter to Marcella until it was written; she
lived so much inside her wall that the interest the letter must
necessarily have for the girl did not occur to her until she called
her downstairs and put it into her hand.
"You'll need to take this letter to Carlossie, Marcella. Jean is too
busy to-day. And ask about the postage to Australia. I believe it's only
a penny."
"Who do we know in Australia?" asked Marcella.
"Your mother's brother Philip. I've written to tell him you'll be coming
to him. He wrote when your mother died saying he would have you, but
your father refused then. I've told him you'll be coming shortly, so
we'll need to cable when we've looked up the boats and everything."
Marcella stared at her aunt in dead silence. She did not in the least
resent this way of disposing of her. She was used to it--she would have
disposed of herself in just the same high-handed fashion if it had
occurred to her. But she was stricken silent with inarticulate joy at
the prospect of going away--especially of going across the sea just as
far as possible without getting over the edge of the world.
"But do you think he'll have me?" she said tremulously when she could
speak again.
"He'll need to," said her aunt calmly.
"Anyway, if he doesn't someone else will," said Marcella casually.
Pages:
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96