Celestina took hold of her hand gently.

‘Don’t, Biddy dear,’ she whispered.  ’Perhaps when the doctor goes you’ll see him;’ which did Bridget far more good than if she had overheard, as she luckily did not, Rough’s remark to Alie:  ’I don’t think she’s any right to grumble when it’s all her doing.’

It was not a kind thing to say, but then Rough’s heart was sore and anxious, and when one feels so it is difficult not to be cross and sharp.  All their hearts were sore, I think.  Children jump on so fast in their minds.  Bride and Rough, and Alie too, I daresay, had fancied to themselves that once ‘downstairs’ again papa would seem directly like himself, and this news was a great disappointment.  So the little party went in rather sadly, Miss Neale telling them in a low voice to take off their things and come down to tea in the schoolroom as quietly as possible, Rough, over whom her authority did not extend, stationing himself at the front door to watch for the doctor’s departure.

He stayed some time, and when he had gone Mr. Vane asked for the children.

‘In a little,’ Mrs. Vane answered.  Then she turned to Celestina’s mother.  ‘This idea has rather taken my breath away,’ she said, but her voice was pretty cheerful.

‘I hardly see how it is to be managed,’ said Mr. Vane, for once rather despondently.

‘We will talk it all over afterwards,’ said Mrs. Vane, at a little sign from Celestina’s mother; ‘and now we will leave you to rest a while.’

‘Oh dear, Mrs. Fairchild,’ she said, when they were alone in the next room, ’I wonder what we can do.  It is dreadful to think of going abroad—­to be alone among strangers, and my husband so ill.  And then leaving the children.  I cannot send them to my mother.  Her house is full with my eldest brother’s family home from India.’

‘I think they would get on very well here,’ said Mrs. Fairchild.  ’And your own governess will be back in a fortnight.  Of course Miss Neale would be too young for such a charge; besides, she cannot leave her mother.  And—­you must excuse my suggesting it—­but is not Madame d’Ermont’s home somewhere in the south?’

‘To be sure,’ exclaimed Mrs. Vane, starting up joyfully; ’how stupid of me not to have thought of it!  Thank you so much for reminding me.  I have her last letter here.  You have written to her yourself, have you not?’

‘Yes, indeed.  I wrote to thank her very much for her kindness,’ said Mrs. Fairchild.  ’It may be of the greatest advantage to Celestina some day.’

For I have been so busy with the story of Biddy’s escapade and its consequences, that I have put off too long telling of the French lady’s kind letter to Mrs. Vane about her old friend Mrs. Fairchild and her little name-daughter Celestina.

‘It has touched me very much,’ she wrote, ’to find I was still remembered; and if ever I can be of use to little Celestine and her mother I hope she or you will let me know.’