"What are you doing, Magda?"
Mrs. Royston, coming into the morning-room an hour after breakfast, found her second daughter lounging before the fire, with an open novel on her knee, and eyes fixed dreamily on nothing.
Magda slowly stood up. "I'm—reading."
"I think, at this time of the day, you might find something better worth reading than that," as she glanced at the title. "I want you to leave one or two notes for me."
"Isn't Merryl going out?"
"No; not at present. What is the matter? Are you poorly?"
"No, mother."
Mrs. Royston stood looking at her. "Have you practised the last few mornings?"
"I do—sometimes."
"And you look 'sometimes' at your French and German, I suppose. It is a great pity that you let yourself get into such idle habits."