“You see, Charley dear, I have made up my mind that this is the right time for your going away from us. Over and above all the blessed change of by-and-by, you’ll be much happier, and do much better, even so soon as next month. Even so soon as next week.”

“How do you know I shall?”

“I don’t quite know how, Charley, but I do.” In spite of her unchanged manner of speaking, and her unchanged appearance of composure, she scarcely trusted herself to look at him, but kept her eyes employed on the cutting and buttering of his bread, and on the mixing of his tea, and other such little preparations. “You must leave father to me, Charley⁠—I will do what I can with him⁠—but you must go.”

“You don’t stand upon ceremony, I think,” grumbled the boy, throwing his bread and butter about, in an ill-humour.

She made him no answer.