“One comfort is,” said Margaret, smiling, “you would miss Ethel more.”
“Gallant old King! I am glad she has had her wish. Good-bye, my Margaret, we will think of you. I wish—”
“I am very happy,” was Margaret’s gentle reassurance. “The dear little Daisy looks just as her godfather imagined her;” and happy was her face when her father quitted her.
Margaret’s next visitor was Meta, who came to reclaim her bonnet, and, with a merry smile, to leave word that she was walking on to Cocksmoor. Margaret remonstrated on the heat.
“Let me alone,” said she, making her pretty wilful gesture. “Ethel and Mary ought to have a lift, and I have had no walking to-day.”
“My dear, you don’t know how far it is. You can’t go alone.”
“I am lying in wait for Miss Bracy, or something innocent,” said Meta. “In good time—here comes Tom.”
Tom entered, declaring that he had come to escape from the clack downstairs.
“I’ll promise not to clack if you will be so kind as to take care of me to Cocksmoor,” said Meta.
“Do you intend to walk?”