[CHAPTER VII.]
MRS. PLUNKETT'S TROUBLE.
"ISN'T that like Mrs. Heavitree?" said Marigold, as the sisters reached the arbour. "Always thinking of other people, and planning for them. Don't you like her, now you're here?"
"I should just think I did. It's all true, every bit of what you told me, and I'm as happy as the day is long. I wish I could live here always."
"That's what I felt."
"Yes, I know you did; and I thought it was funny of you. But I don't think so now. I understand quite well, now I'm here. Everything is so nice and clean and pretty; and everybody is so kind. But I want to know about you at home. Is mother as cross as ever?"
"Worse, I think. She gets worse some days. Nothing I can do or say is right; and the mess the house is in!—It makes me miserable. Father isn't at home near so often in the evenings now; and I know that is the reason. He does like a tidy place to come to; and she won't have things tidy. He can't stand the mess, nor her temper."
Narcissus was silent for two or three seconds.
"That don't seem—" she said slowly.