“Well, here’s for you,” said Dr. May. “It is only two guineas to-day; that banker at the Grange beguiled us of our time, but you had better close the bargain for him, Ethel—he will be a revenue for you, for this winter at least.”
“Oh, thank you, papa,” was all Ethel could say; overpowered by his kindness, and more repressed by what she felt so unmerited, than she would have been by coldness, she said few words, and preferred listening to Norman, who began to describe their adventures at the Grange.
All her eagerness revived, however, as she sprang out of the carriage, full of tidings for Margaret; and it was almost a race between her and Norman to get upstairs, and unfold their separate budgets.
Margaret’s lamp had just been lighted, when they made their entrance, Norman holding the flowers on high.
“Oh, how beautiful! how delicious! For me? Where did you get them?”
“From Abbotstoke Grange; Miss Rivers sent them to you.”
“How very kind! What a lovely geranium, and oh, that fern! I never saw anything so choice. How came she to think of me?”
“They asked me in because it rained, and she was making the prettiest things, leather leaves and flowers for picture frames. I thought it was work that would just suit you, and learned how to do it. That made them ask about you, and it ended by her sending you this nosegay.”
“How very kind everybody is! Well, Ethel, are you come home too?”
“Papa picked me up. Oh, Margaret, we have found such a nice room, a clean sanded kitchen—”