Margaret nearly laughed at the strange manner, but spoke with a sorrowful tone, “Glad in one way, dearest, almost too glad, and grateful.”
“Oh, I am so glad!” again said Ethel; “I thought it was making everybody unhappy.”
“I don’t believe I could be that, now he has come, now I know;” and her voice trembled. “There must be doubt and uncertainty,” she added, “but I cannot dwell on them just yet. They will settle what is right, I know, and, happen what may, I have always this to remember.”
“Oh, that is right! Papa will be so relieved! He was afraid it had only been distress.”
“Poor papa! Yes, I did not command myself at first; I was not sure whether it was right to see him at all.”
“Oh, Margaret, that was too bad!”
“It did not seem right to encourage any such—such,” the word was lost, “to such a poor helpless thing as I am. I did not know what to do, and I am afraid I behaved like a silly child, and did not think of dear papa’s feelings. But I will try to be good, and leave it all to them.”
“And you are going to be happy?” said Ethel wistfully.
“For the present, at least. I cannot help it,” said Margaret. “Oh, he is so kind, and so unselfish, and so beautifully gentle—and to think of his still caring! But there, dear Ethel, I am not going to cry; do call papa, or he will think me foolish again. I want him to be quite at ease about me before he comes.”
“Then he is coming?”