"One for me!" she had exclaimed, reading the label in delight. "How kind of the Dean!"
But when she thanked the Dean, in pretty gratitude, a little later, he had disclaimed the gift.
"Who sent for it for me? Can it really be for me? Not Mr. Pelham, surely?" (for it was he who, at the Dean's request, had ordered Charity's). He, too, disowned being the giver.
"But you know?" Marjorie asked.
"Yes, I know. The giver is one who has every right to give you pleasure."
Something in his manner put her on the track, and she remembered that the Bishop had been in the garden when the purchase had been talked about. When she saw him next, he did not disavow her thanks.
"I like to see you enjoying yourself, my dear," he answered in his kind tones. "I thought how bright and happy you both looked the other day. Only don't have any accidents."
"I don't think it was the Dean," Marjorie's truthful nature prompted her to answer now. "It was—the Bishop."
"And I asked him not! I begged him not to carry out his intention. Poor Norham!" with a sigh, "it has given in at last, and now you and Charity have started, every girl in the place will follow. I blame the Duchess."
When the visitor had gone, Marjorie stood for a moment at the window, anxiously watching Sandy speeding up the garden as fast as his legs could carry him.