“You will love Ambrose!” she told her daughter. “He is older than I am and I think that it was he who taught me to love the country so much that I was never tempted by the social whirl of London.”
But somehow there had never seemed to be time or enough money to go to Cornwall and there had been no question of her uncle coming to them.
He had not even attended her mother’s funeral although he had sent a wreath and a long letter to her father telling him how deeply he regretted his sister’s death.
‘I must write to Uncle Ambrose now,’ Lalitha told herself. ‘Perhaps he will ask me to go and live with him.’
She had actually sat down at her father’s desk in the study and opened the blotter when Mrs. Clements came into the room.
“I want to talk to you, Lalitha,” she said in a tone that had a
