Really, I don't see anything better for you--short of your
own home."
"I shall never go there again," Sanchia told her, directly.
"Very right, my dear," said the old lady. "Then you had better come to
me."
Sanchia said, "I should like that," and Lady Maria, taking her by the
chin, patted her cheek.
"And so should I, my dear," she said--and the thing was as good as
settled.
Mrs. John, released from her stair-head, came up presently; Bill Chevenix
was with her. "Dear Aunt Wenman," she said, "I haven't had a word with you
since you came; but I'm sure you've been happy."
"Miss Sanchia and I have been swearing eternal friendship," said Lady
Maria.
"Exchanging drops of blood, eh, Aunt?" chirped the cheerful youth.
"Nothing like it."
"I have no blood to spare, William," she replied, "and if I had, Miss
Sanchia has too much. Now you can take her away while I talk to Helen.
Good-by, my dear," she bade Sanchia.
"Good-by, Lady Maria," the girl replied, with deeply sincere eyes. "You've
been very kind to me."
"Fiddlesticks," said Lady Maria. "I like you. Now run away, the pair of
you."
"Right, Aunt," said Chevenix, and crooked his arm.
After a decent interval, in which we may suppose formal visits exchanged
between Charles Street and Great Cumberland Place, Sanchia set up her rest
in the former mansion.
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