‘Oh! I’m sure they won’t do that,’ cried Mysie in consternation. ‘Mamma never would!’
‘And wouldn’t you? Don’t you like me as well as Gill and Val?’
‘I like you better. Stop, don’t, Fly; you are what people call more of a companion to me—my friend; but friends aren’t the same as sisters, are they? They may be more, or they may be less, but it is not the same kind. And then it is not only you, there are papa and mamma and all my brothers.’
‘But you do love daddy, and you have not seen yours for four years, and Aunt Florence and all the cousins at Beechcroft say they were quite afraid of him.’
‘Because he is so—Oh! I don’t know how to say it, but he is just like Epaminondas, or King Arthur, or Robert Bruce, or—’
‘Well, that’s enough’ said Fly; ‘I am sure my daddy would laugh if you said he was like all those.’
‘To be sure he would!’ said Mysie. ‘And do you think I would give mine for him, though yours is so kind and good and such fun?’
‘And I’m sure I’d rather have him than yours,’ said Fly.
‘Well, that’s right. It would be wicked not to like one’s own father and mother best.’
‘But if they thought it would be good for you to have all my governesses and advantages, and they took pity on my loneliness. What then?’