UNWELCOME NEWS
MAGDA, having removed her snowy garments, found the family round the breakfast-table; and she did not disdain a second course of tea and toast after her early outing.
She certainly looked no worse for the walk. Her face glowed with delight.
"Letters—letters!" quoth Merryl, next in age to Magda, and a complete child still, despite her fifteen years—plump and rosy, unformed in feature, but with a look of beaming good-nature and pure happiness, which must have transformed the plainest face into pleasantness. She was busily engaged in buttering her father's toast. From early infancy she had been his especial pet; and her seat was always by his side. Mr. Royston without Merryl was like a ship without its rudder—a helpless object.
"Lots of letters for everybody except Magda," piped Francie's small treble.
"So much the better for me! I haven't the bother of answering them," Magda said joyously.
"Seem to have liked your walk," Mr. Royston remarked in puzzled accents. For Magda, after parting with Rob, was usually what he described as "in the dumps" for hours.
"I just love a fight with the snow. And I've seen Patricia Vincent. She was at the station too. And she has asked me to tea to-morrow."
There was a note of triumph in the tone, for Magda was aware that Pen had been counting on some such invitation for herself.
"How did you manage to bring that about?" asked Pen, obviously not pleased.