“To Cocksmoor,” said Margaret. “I am very sorry she has missed you.”
“Shall I be in your way?” said Meta timidly. “Papa has several things to do, and said he would call for me here.”
“Good luck for Margaret,” said Dr. May.
“So they are gone to Cocksmoor!” said Meta. “How I envy them!”
“You would not if you saw the place,” said Dr. May. “I believe Norman is very angry with me for letting them go near it.”
“Ah! but they are of real use there!”
“And Miss Meta is obliged to take to envying the black-hole of Cocksmoor, instead of being content with the eglantine bowers of Abbotstoke! I commiserate her!” said the doctor.
“If I did any good instead of harm at Abbotstoke!”
“Harm!” exclaimed Margaret.
“They went on very well without me,” said Meta; “but ever since I have had the class they have been getting naughtier and noisier every Sunday; and, last Sunday, the prettiest of all—the one I liked best, and had done everything for—she began to mimic me—held up her finger, as I did, and made them all laugh!”