I----"
She could have chosen no more efficacious threat; though if she had been
allowed to finish her sentence, she would have added, "I'll go back to
Scotland to Lady MacMillan's, or stay in the convent."
Thus the sting would have lost its venom for the Home-Davises, but
Elinor, fearing disaster, cut the sentence short. "Oh, for mercy's sake,
mother, let Mary have her own way," she broke in. "You can see she means
to in the end, so why disturb yourself? Nothing can happen to her."
Elinor's eyes anxiously recalled to her mother a letter that had come
from Doctor Smythe that morning announcing his return at the end of the
week. It was providential that Mary should have proposed going, as it
would have been awkward otherwise to get her out of the house in time;
and Elinor was anxious that she should be taken at her word.
"It's more of appearances than danger that I'm thinking," Mrs.
Home-Davis explained, retiring slowly, face to the enemy, yet with no
real desire to win the battle. "Perhaps if I write Mrs. Larkin in
Florence--a nice, responsible woman--to find a family for you to stay
with, it may do. Only in that case, you mustn't stop before you get to
Florence. I'll buy your ticket straight through, by the Mont Cenis."
"No, please," Mary protested, mildly. "Not that way. I've set my heart
on going along the Riviera, not to stop anywhere, but to see the coast
from the train. It must be so lovely: and after this blackness to see
the blue Mediterranean, and the flowers, and oranges, and the red rocks
that run out into the sea; it's a dream of joy to think of it.
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