"Then wisha, my daughter, think what a good thing it will be for the
child. She will be one of the children of the Infant Jesus first, then a
child of Mary, and then of the Sacred heart itself. And then remember,
Rome! The holy city! The city of the Holy Father! Why, who knows, she
may even see himself some day!"

"Yes, yes, I know," said my mother, and then turning with her melting
eyes to me she said:

"Would my Mary like to go--leaving her mamma but coming home in the
holidays--would she?"

I was going to say I would not, because mamma could not possibly get on
without me, but before I could reply Aunt Bridget, with her bunch of
keys at her waist, came jingling into the room, and catching my mother's
last words, said, in her harsh, high-pitched voice.

"Isabel! You astonish me! To defer to the will of a child! Such a child
too! So stubborn and spoiled and self-willed! If _we_ say it is good for
her to go she _must_ go!"

I could feel through my mother's arm, which was still about my waist,
that she was trembling from head to foot, but at first she did not speak
and Aunt Bridget, in her peremptory way, went on:

"We say it is good for you, too, Isabel, if she is not to hasten your
death by preying on your nerves and causing you to break more blood
vessels. So we are consulting your welfare as well as the girl's in
sending her away."