"Narcissus didn't mean that really—not really and truly," said Marigold. "She couldn't, because it would be selfish; and Narcissus isn't selfish. You'll come, mother? Then you've got to dress sharp. Father will be back in ten minutes. I'll see to everything."
Mrs. Plunkett betook herself off with some semblance of haste, and Narcissus said despairingly,—"There! Now you've spoilt it all."
"No, I haven't. Did you see how she looked—just for one moment? Just like what she was when she first came to us."
"I don't care. I know how she will look there,—as glum and sour as anything."
"She won't, if she doesn't get put out."
"But every single thing puts her out, and she's for ever thinking people mean what they don't mean. It's so awfully silly. And I did mean that I didn't want her."
"Then you've got to begin to want her. It won't do for us to get into this sort of way. We shall just be miserable," said Marigold with some energy, as she laid the table for tea. "I know she's tiresome, and it's difficult to love her, and she makes me feel so angry sometimes, I don't know how to bear myself. But all the same she has her rights, and I can't stand seeing her left out of everything. She's father's wife. Don't you see?"
"I wish she wasn't," responded Narcissus; and with the words Plunkett came in.
"Ready, girls?" said he. "See here, I've brought a knot of flowers for each of you. I like my girls to look nice. Got your Sunday frocks on—that's right. Where's she?"
"Mother's coming with us, father," said Marigold.