“Oh, thank you, Flora. That is a kind treat, in case the morning should be very awful!”
Margaret Agatha Rivers signed her documents, listened to explanations, and was complimented by her uncle on not thinking it necessary to be senseless on money matters, like her cousin, Agatha Langdale.
Still she looked a little oppressed, as she locked up the tokens of her wealth, and the sunshine of her face did not beam out again till she arrived at Stoneborough, and was dispensing her pretty thanks to the few she found at home.
“Ethel out and Norman? His seal is only too pretty—”
“They are all helping Dr. Spencer at Cocksmoor.”
“What a pity! But it is so very kind of him to treat me as a daisy. In some ways I like his present for that the best of all,” said Meta.
“I will tell him so,” said Mary.
“Yes, no,” said Meta. “I am not pretending to be anything half so nice.”
Mary and Blanche fell upon her for calling herself anything but the nicest flower in the world; and she contended that she was nothing better than a parrot-tulip, stuck up in a parterre; and just as the discussion was becoming a game at romps, Dr. May came in, and the children shouted to him to say whether his humming-bird were a daisy or a tulip.
“That is as she comports herself,” he said playfully.