John did not feel able to make any reply. It seemed to have escaped Mrs. Sandford’s mind that this was his mother of whom she was speaking, and that, if it was strange that a daughter should not come to see her parents, it was still more strange that a mother should not come to see her child. The thought of her coming brought a great sense of disturbance into his mind. He did not feel that he had any wish to see her. His mother had got confused and lost in this Emily of whom he had heard so much. They were, he supposed, the same person, but he had a reluctance to identify them. It was not to her but to his grandparents that he belonged. He had no desire to have this little world disturbed, where all was so harmonious, by an alien presence. The wonder which had arisen in his mind when he talked with Elly, rose up again more painfully. How little she must care for him never to have wished to see him again. Perhaps she was one of those people who do not care much for anyone. Altogether it would be better that the family should remain as they had always been, without the disturbing influence of one who was so near to them all, and yet was a stranger. An uneasy sense that harm would come of it and that pain would be in it filled his thoughts. ‘Yes,’ said the old lady, in her soft voice, ‘whatever happens, it would be well that she should come. Her father would like her to be here. Even if he did not wish it at the time, he would be glad of it afterwards; for how could he settle everything, he that has never had any trouble about the house, by himself? John, we have a nice quiet time just now. It’s raining, and nobody is likely to call, and your grandfather has gone over to Sailsfield to ask about those new strawberries. Bring your little writing-case--that Mr. Cattley gave you on your birthday. You can put it here on my table. I’m too tired to write myself. Just say what I tell you. Are you ready, dear? Then, you may begin. “Dear Emily----” ‘But, grandmamma,’ said John, ‘how can I say “dear Emily,” when it is my mother? I can’t write to my mother so.’ ‘Dear, dear me!’ said Mrs. Sandford, ‘how was it I never thought of that? Oh, my poor boy. It is just a confusion altogether,’ she cried, once more, with tears ready to drop, ‘just a confusion, everything turned upside down, and all as unnatural----! I felt it from the first, but they thought they knew better than me. Then you must say, “dear mamma,” John. I am glad you reminded me of that, for I get confused too. Now go on, my dear. “It is a long time since you have been here, and I think it is time that you should pay us a visit. We are getting old people, and your dear father, though he never complains, is not such a walker as he used to be, and I have got a little stupid, and can’t keep him as cheerful as I could wish.” Do you think I shouldn’t say as much as that? or what do you object to, my dear?’