“She didn’t do anything wrong, Priscilla; Martha did the wrong. Ladybird thought only of helping her friend.”
“She’s old enough to know better,” said Miss Priscilla, sternly. “And now I will see Martha.”
After what was undoubtedly a very stormy interview, Miss Flint returned with the edge of her anger a little dulled.
“I suppose Lavinia wasn’t altogether to blame,” she said.
“No,” said Miss Dorinda, timidly. “Shall we go and find her, Priscilla?”
“Yes; but we must make her understand that it is wrong for her even to think of interfering in Stella’s love-affair. Lavinia’s too romantic already to be mixed up in such doings.”
“I suppose so,” said Miss Dorinda, meekly.
“Suppose so? You know it. You know as well as I do, Dorinda Flint, that Lavinia’s head is chuck-full of silly, romantic ideas, just as her mother’s was; and unless we’re careful, she’ll only get more and more so, until she’ll run away with some good-for-nothing, as her mother did before her.”
“I suppose so,” said the meek Miss Dorinda again. “But I do think, Priscilla, we ought to do something to entertain the child. We might have a children’s party for her.”
“Well—we might,” said Miss Priscilla, who had begun to relent a little. “It would be an awful lot of extra trouble; but romping play would be better for that child than sentimental twaddle.”