“They said—let me see—that all our noses were too long, and, that as to Flora’s being a beauty! when their brothers called her—so droll of them—but Harvey called her a stuck-up duchess. In fact, it was the fashion to make a great deal of those Mays.”
“I hope they said something of the sailor brother,” said Ethel.
“No; I found if I stayed to hear much more, I should be knocking Ned down, so I thought it time to take leave before he suspected.”
All this had passed very quickly, with much laughter, and numerous interjections of amusement, and reprobation, or delight. So excited were the young people, that they did not perceive a step on the gravel, till Dr. May entered by the window, and stood among them. His first exclamation was of consternation. “Margaret, my dear child, what is the matter?”
Only then did her brother and sisters perceive that Margaret was lying back on her cushions, very pale, and panting for breath. She tried to smile and say, “it was nothing,” and “she was silly,” but the words were faint, from the palpitation of her heart.
“It was Harry’s trick,” said Flora indignantly, as she flew for the scent-bottle, while her father bent over Margaret. “Harry dressed himself up, and she was frightened.”
“Oh, no—no—he did not mean it,” gasped Margaret; “don’t.”
“Harry, I did not think you could be so cowardly and unfeeling!” and Dr. May’s look was even more reproachful than his words.
Harry was dismayed at his sister’s condition, but the injustice of the wholesale reproach chased away contrition. “I did nothing to frighten any one,” he said moodily.
“Now, Harry, you know how you kept on,” said Flora, “and when you saw she was frightened—”