“You were named for Mother, but father did not want them quite alike. Her name was Margaret, and father used to say to her—
‘Oh, fair Margaret,
Oh, rare Margaret,
Where got you the name of strength and beauty?’”
Would she be dearer to her father on account of her name?
“And Zaidee?” she said, in a suggestive tone.
“Oh, I believe it was from a story that had been a great favorite with my mother, and it does just suit Zay. She is so light and airy and butterfly-like. Why, she seems about two years younger than you. I’m glad there isn’t any puzzle about telling you apart. She’s sweet and gay and loving and I suppose we’ve all spoiled her. Aunt Kate thinks she’s the loveliest thing in the world, and she has just devoted her life to the child. Aunt Kate is as good as gold, a stickler for some things and she’s always been splendid to mother. But she’s great on family. She can’t cry you down, because you belong to us.”
“But I’ve been on the other side all my life, and—” yes, she would say this—“Mrs. Boyd’s health was so broken that if it had not been for Mrs. Barrington’s kind offer I must have given up school and gone into a factory; and began to repay her for her kindly care of me.”
She felt the curious sort of shrinking that passed over him.
“But you didn’t,” he said, decisively. “And if she had let you alone——”
“But she was sure my mother was dead. Oh, nothing can ever make me forget her tender, devoted love. I cannot bear to have her blamed.”
“But you must not dispute the matter with father. Let it all go since it has turned out so fortunately. I love you for your courage in standing by her, but there are many things you will learn—beliefs and usages of society. I don’t mean simply money. We Crawfords have no vulgarity with a gold veneer; and, my dear girl, you may tell all your life with Mrs. Boyd over to mother, indeed, I think she will want to know it all; but—be careful about Aunt Kate—”