“Oh, I am sorry!” said Meta, “Easter won’t come again for a whole year, and it has been so delightful. How that dear little Annie smiled and nursed her doll! I wish I could see her show it to her mother! Oh, how nice it is! I am so glad papa brought me to live in the country. I don’t think anything can be so charming in all the world as seeing little children happy!”
Ethel could not think how the Wilmots could have found it in their heart to regret the liberality of this sweet damsel, on whom she began to look with Norman’s enthusiastic admiration.
There was time for a walk round the grounds, Meta doing the honours to Flora, and Ethel walking with Mrs. Larpent. Both pairs were very good friends, and the two sisters admired and were charmed with the beauty of the gardens and conservatories—Ethel laying up a rich store of intelligence for Margaret; but still she was not entirely happy; her papa was more and more on her mind. He had looked dispirited at breakfast; he had a long hard day’s work before him, and she was increasingly uneasy at the thought that it would be a painful effort to him to join them in the evening. Her mind was full of it when she was conducted, with Flora, to the room where they were to dress; and when Flora began to express her delight, her answer was only that she hoped it was not very unpleasant to papa.
“It is not worth while to be unhappy about that, Ethel. If it is an effort, it will be good for him when he is once here. I know he will enjoy it.”
“Yes, I should think he would—I hope he will. He must like you to have such a friend as Miss Rivers. How pretty she is!”
“Now, Ethel, it is high time to dress. Pray make yourself look nice—don’t twist up your hair in that any-how fashion.”
Ethel sighed, then began talking fast about some hints on school-keeping which she had picked up for Cocksmoor.
Flora’s glossy braids were in full order, while Ethel was still struggling to get her plait smooth, and was extremely beholden to her sister for taking it into her own hands and doing the best with it that its thinness and roughness permitted. And then Flora pinched and pulled and arranged Ethel’s frock, in vain attempts to make it sit like her own—those sharp high bones resisted all attempts to disguise them. “Never mind, Flora, it is quite tidy, I am sure, there—do let me be in peace. You are like old nurse.”
“So those are all the thanks I get?”
“Well, thank you very much, dear Flora. You are a famous person. How I wish Margaret could see that lovely mimosa!”