Touched by his humility, she continued, “Then you really think I _ought_ to go?” “My good child, there can be no two opinions. Every one thinks you ought to go.” “Except Fairy.” “Fairy has no right to stand in your way, and your absence will be an excellent lesson for her. She will learn to be independent and useful. Now, here is my turn, and I must leave you. Go straight home and tell them that you are ready to start, and that the sooner your mother sees about your escort and passage the better.” And he wrung her hand and left her. Honor walked home at a snail’s pace, thinking hard. If Fairy would but give her consent, she would hold out no longer against every one’s wishes. She would go--yes, without further hesitation. After all, it was only for one year. But, although she did not know it, Fairy had already yielded. Jessie and Mrs. Banks had been talking to her seriously in Honor’s absence, and she had been persuaded to listen to the voice of reason--and interest. If she had gone to India, as she intended, she would have been parted from Honor, and of her own accord. This fact, brusquely placed before her by Mrs. Banks, she was unable to deny, and sat dumb and sullen. “Uncle Pelham is sure to take to Honor,” added Jessie, “and he will probably do something for us all, thinking that we are _all_ as nice as Honor, which is not the case. She will be home in a year, and there will be her letter every week.” “Yes, and _presents_,” put in Mrs. Banks, significantly. “She will have plenty of pocket-money, and will be able to send you home no end of nice things.” Fairy sniffed and sighed, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, and finally suffered herself to be coaxed and convinced, and when her sister opened the drawing-room door, with rather a solemn face, she ran to her and put her arms round her and said-- “Honor, darling, I have promised to let you go!” That very day the important epistle was despatched to Shirani, and Fairy, to show that she did nothing by halves, actually dropped it into the letter-box with her own hand. And during the evening she once more produced the bundles of patterns, and threw herself heart and soul into the selection of her sister’s outfit. CHAPTER VIII. DANIEL POLLITT, ESQ., AND FAMILY.