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She was so sure that Mitchell had been fully equal to the occasion that she tore the envelope open with a smile—and read: MY DEAR MRS. ROSSCOTT: To think of my having some of your handwriting for my own!—I was nearly petrified with joy. You see I know your writing from having read Burnett all those "Burn this at once" epistles.
Rosscott pursued calmly; "and you know the law of heredity is an established scientific fact now, so you could feel quite safe as to her nose skipping the next generation." Jack was audibly amused. "It’s not anything to laugh over," his companion continued gravely. "It’s something to ponder and pray over. If I were Maude I should be on my knees about it most of the time."
"Can the mender of ways—other people’s ways—come in?" asked a voice at the door. It was Mitchell’s voice, and he came in without waiting for an invitation. "Is it time that I went?" Mrs. Rosscott asked him, anxiously. "Half an hour yet." "Oh, I say Jack," cried Burnett, "let’s boil some water in the witch-hazel pan, and make a rarebit in the poultice pan, and have some tea here."
"She must have enjoyed it," she said thoughtfully. "Enjoyed it!" said Jack. "She won’t like Paradise in comparison." "And you’ve been a good boy," said Mrs. Rosscott, regarding him merrily. "You’ve played your part well." He rose to his feet and put his hand to his temple. "I salute my general," he said. "I was well trained in the maneuver." "It’s odd," said Mrs. Rosscott thoughtfully.
"Well, I am so glad," was all she said for the first few seconds, and nobody doubted her words forever after. Then Mrs. Rosscott removed her hat and jacket, and when she returned to the bedside her future aunt made her sit down close to her and hold one of her hands while Jack held the other. "I’m so glad you’re to have the runnin’ of Jack," the old lady declared sincerely.
Rosscott things that every woman longs to know. When her toilette was complete it must be admitted that as a yachtswoman Aunt Mary fairly outshone her automobile portrait. She surveyed herself long and carefully. "I expect it’ll be quite an experience," she said with many new wrinkles of anticipation. "Yes," said Janice, with a glance at the fluttering window curtains, "I expect it will be."
He didn’t care where they went or what they saw or what they talked of, just if only he and she might be going, seeing, and talking for the benefit of one another and of one another alone. They bowled away upon a firm, hard road that skirted the park, and then plunged deeply into the forest. Mrs. Rosscott handled the reins and the whip with the hands of an expert. "I like to drive," said she.
"I always have paid lots of attention to her, haven’t I?" he demanded. Mrs. Rosscott shook her head. "We won’t discuss that," she said. "We’ll stick to Aunt Mary. Aunt Mary is a rock whose foundation is firm; when it comes to your relations toward other women—" she stopped, shrugging her shoulders, and he understood.
My aunt’s Lady Chiheleywicks, but the family name is Lorne. And you pronounce my aunt’s name Chix." "I’m glad I know," said Jack. "Oh, we’re great on titles," said Burnett, modestly. "If the Boers hadn’t killed Col. Rosscott, Betty would have been a Lady, too, some day. But as it is—" he added thoughtfully, "she’s nothing but a widow." "’Nothing but’!" Jack cried indignantly.
"All I ask of you is to be patient with him. I always was. That is, most always." "Dear Aunt Mary," said Mrs. Rosscott, slipping down on her knees beside the bed, "you are so good to me that you encourage me to tell you my secret. It isn’t long, and it isn’t bad, but I have a confession to make." "Oh, I say," cried Jack, "if you put it that way let me do the owning up!"
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