"I wonder if Mrs. Price would send out our tea to us here," he suggested presently; "run indoors and ask her, Felicia." Then, as the little girl sped across the lawn, he turned to Molly and inquired: "Why wouldn't Doris come with you this afternoon? Doesn't she like her cousin?"
"Well, no, I suppose she doesn't," Molly was obliged to admit.
"Why not?"
Molly hesitated, and glanced at her uncle anxiously, doubtful of the wisdom of taking him into her confidence.
"I'm not sure I ought to tell you," she said at length; "but—but Doris is very jealous of Felicia, because every one likes her—not only you and grandfather, but mother, and father, and Miss Barton, too. Doris says she cannot think what we all see in her to make us like her so much, and she is always talking about her mother having been a 'nobody,' and saying that Felicia is deceptive. She isn't! Doris says she makes believe to be religious to please father, but I'm sure that's not true. Oh, Uncle Guy, you won't tell any one this, will you?"
"Certainly I will not. So Doris thinks Felicia's religion is a pretence?"
Molly nodded.
"And you don't think so?"
"No, Uncle Guy. It's real."
"Yes, it's real—to her; I believe it's a great comfort and source of happiness to her. She brought a very sore heart to the Priory, poor little girl! I am pleased she has a friend in you, Molly."