"I think, dear, that Sir Philip was scarcely polite to you. I am not at all satisfied with his conduct. He is quite unreasonable."
Margaret slowly withdrew her arms from her mother's neck, looked at her uneasily, and looked down again.
"He thinks that I ought to do something for Janetta—to make people think well of her, I suppose."
"He is utterly preposterous," said Lady Caroline.
"Do you think I ought to go to Miss Morrison about Janetta, mamma?"
"No, indeed, my dearest. Your father would never hear of it."
"I should like to do all that I could for her. I am very fond of her, indeed I am, although Sir Philip thinks me so selfish." And Margaret's soft hazel eyes filled with tears, which fell gently over her delicate cheeks without distorting her features in the least.
"Don't cry, my darling; please don't cry," said her mother, anxiously. "Your eyelids will be red all the evening, and papa will ask what is the matter. Have you any rose water?—Of course you will do all you can for your poor little friend: you are only too fond of her—too generous!—Sir Philip does not understand you as I do; he has disappointed me very much this afternoon."
"He was very unkind," said Margaret, with the faintest possible touch of resentment in her soft tones.
"Think no more of him for the present, dear. I dare say he will be here to-morrow, penitent and abashed. There goes the dressing-bell. Are you ready for Markham now? Put on your pink dress."