"I wish I could," said Rose; "though I don't know whether I should get on with--with every one. But I can't; I am at school; is not that a shame, Georgy? And I am going out on a visit in a day or two." A pause ensued. Georgy was silent, and breathing, oh, so quickly; Mrs. Darling stood as one not at ease; Charlotte, apathetical as ever, save for the restless fire in the eyes, was looking down into the street between the crimson curtains of the somewhat high salon. Presently George spoke, looking at Rose. "I want to go back to Alnwick. I want Benja." "Oh, child!" exclaimed Rose, in a sort of awe. "Benja is not there." "He's gone to heaven," continued George; "but I _might_ see him, you know. Mamma sees him sometimes. She saw him the other night when she cried out: she squeezed hold of me so that she hurt me." Rose cast an involuntary glance at her impassive sister. Believe she saw a ghost!--she, Charlotte, the mocker! No, no; it could not have come to that. "I should have all Benja's playthings; I should ride his pony," went on Georgy. "I should see Brave, Aunt Rose. I want to go home to Alnwick." "And the best place for you, my little darling," answered Rose. "Charlotte, do you hear? This child says he would like to go back home. I'm sure I should think it is only the worry of his being hurried about so from place to place that makes him thin. He is nothing but a bag of bones." "I have come to think that Alnwick is not healthy," observed Charlotte, with her usual equanimity. "All the St. Johns die there." "Don't you intend to go back to it?" asked Rose, breathlessly. "Not at present; when George shall have grown strong again." "Alnwick, his native air, might be the very place where he would grow strong," cried Rose, persistently. "Wouldn't I go to it if it were mine. Healthy or not healthy, I'd reign there, with the county at my feet." She laughed merrily; Mrs. Darling seemed uneasy. Indeed, there is little doubt that the appearance of both Charlotte and the child had seriously disturbed her. She moved past the crimson sofa to the side of her daughter, who was still looking listlessly into the street below. "Do you think it well, Charlotte, to abandon Alnwick Hall so entirely to servants? I don't." "You may go and live in it yourself, mamma, if you choose. I'm sure I don't care who lives there. The servants keep it in order, I suppose--in readiness for my return? It is all my own now; that is, it's Georgy's; and I am responsible to no one." She spoke quietly, indifferently, smoothing back the braids of her most luxuriant hair. But for the strange fire in her eyes, the consuming hectic of her cheek, it might have been affirmed that she took no interest in any earthly thing. "I am glad to see you have left off your widow's caps, Charlotte," resumed her mother. "They always look sad upon a young woman."