“I agree with you,” said Margaret. “If there had been no live dolls, Richard and I should have reared our doll family as judiciously as tenderly. There are treasures of carpentry still extant, that he made for them.”
“Oh, I am so glad!” cried Meta, as if she had found another point of union. “If I were to confess—there is a dear old Rose in the secret recesses of my wardrobe. I could as soon throw away my sister—”
“Ha!” cried her brother, laying hold of the child, “here, little Daisy, will you give your doll to Meta?”
“My name is Gertrude Margaret May,” said the little round mouth. The fat arm was drawn back, with all a baby’s dignity, and the rosy face was hidden in Dr. May’s breast, at the sound of George Rivers’s broad laugh and “Well done, little one!”
Dr. May put his arm round her, turned aside from him, and began talking to Meta about Mr. Rivers.
Flora and Norman made conversation for the brother; and he presently asked Norman to go out shooting with him, but looked so amazed on hearing that Norman was no sportsman that Flora tried to save the family credit by mentioning Hector’s love of a gun, which caused their guest to make a general tender of sporting privileges; “Though,” added he, with a drawl, “shooting is rather a nuisance, especially alone.”
Meta told Ethel, a little apart, that he was so tired of going out alone, that he had brought her here, in search of a companion.
“He comes in at eleven o’clock, poor fellow, quite tired with solitude,” said she, “and comes to me to be entertained.”
“Indeed,” exclaimed Ethel. “What can you do?”
“What I can,” said Meta, laughing. “Whatever is not ‘a horrid nuisance’ to him.”