“Great nonsense they are,” said Flora. “Why don’t you tell Miss Winter they are of no use?”
“Mamma never interfered with them,” said Margaret. “She only kept Ethel in her own hands, and if you would be so kind as to change sometimes and sit in the school-room, we could spare Ethel, without hurting Miss Winter’s feelings.”
“Well, I’ll call Ethel, if you like, but I shall go and practise in the drawing-room. The old school-room piano is fit for nothing but Mary to hammer upon.”
Flora went away, evidently annoyed, and Margaret’s conjectures on the cause of it were cut short by Ethel running in with a slate in one hand and two books in the other, the rest having all tumbled down on the stairs.
“Oh, Margaret, I am so glad to come to you. Miss Winter has set Mary to read ‘To be, or not to be,’ and it would have driven me distracted to have stayed there. I have got a most beautiful sum in Compound Proportion, about a lion, a wolf, and a bear eating up a carcase, and as soon as they have done it, you shall hear me say my ancient geography, and then we will do a nice bit of Tasso; and if we have any time after that, I have got such a thing to tell you—only I must not tell you now, or I shall go on talking and not finish my lessons.”
It was not till all were done, that Ethel felt free to exclaim, “Now for what I have been longing to tell you—Richard is going to—” But the fates were unpropitious. Aubrey trotted in, expecting to be amused; next came Norman, and Ethel gave up in despair; and, after having affronted Flora in the morning, Margaret was afraid of renewing the offence, by attempting to secure Ethel as her companion for the afternoon; so not till after the walk could Margaret contrive to claim the promised communication, telling Ethel to come and settle herself cosily by her.
“I should have been very glad of you last evening,” said she, “for papa went to sleep, and my book was out of reach.”
“Oh, I am sorry; how I pity you, poor Margaret!”
“I suppose I have grown lazy,” said Margaret, “for I don’t mind those things now. I am never sorry for a quiet time to recollect and consider.”
“It must be like the waiting in the dark between the slides of a magic lantern,” said Ethel; “I never like to be quiet. I get so unhappy.”