But her own words had suggested some comfort to Frances. 'If only mamma
were here!' she had said. And suddenly she remembered that though mamma
herself could not be hoped for, a letter--a letter in answer to her own
long one enclosing Camilla Harper's--would soon be due.

'It is five--no, six weeks since I sent it,' she thought joyfully. 'I
must hear soon. And then I do hope mamma will say it is best to tell
Jass all about it, whether Jass is vexed with me or not; and even if
there's _no_ chance of making Lady Myrtle kind to them, I'd far rather
Jass knew all I know.'

She sighed, but there was relief in her sigh. And when in another moment
she began talking cheerfully about Jacinth's visit, and all she had done
at Robin Redbreast, her sister almost decided that she herself had been
fanciful and exaggerated about Frances--making mountains out of
molehills. Jacinth was very anxious to take this view of things; it was
much more comfortable to think that the Harpers had had nothing to do
with Frances's fits of depression.

'And after all,' thought Jacinth, 'why should we bother about them? As
likely as not they're no relation to Lady Myrtle, or so distant that it
doesn't count. And it's really not our business.'

It is seldom the case that a looked-for letter--especially from a great
distance--arrives when hoped for. And Frances had hoped for her mother's
reply by the very first date possible.

She was not disappointed. They came--a good fat letter for her, a
thinner one for Jacinth. They lay on the hall table one day when the
girls came home from school; having arrived by the mid-day post, in
which Thetford now rejoiced.

Frances seized her letter, her cheeks flushing with excitement.

'What a thick letter you've got this time!' said Jacinth. But Frances
scarcely heard her.

'Oh, I do so hope I shall have time to read it before dinner!' she said.

'You've half--no, twenty-five minutes,' said Jacinth. 'Run and get ready
first; it won't take you any time, and then you can read your letter in
peace. That's what I'm going to do.'

Frances took her sister's advice, and she managed to make her appearance
in the dining-room punctually, the precious letter in her pocket, its
contents already digested. She was rosier than usual, and Jacinth, who
knew her ways so well, could see that she was struggling to keep down
her excitement. Jacinth herself was not sorry when dinner was over and
she was free to talk to Frances, af