Perfectly Happy.
"OH, I do hope she will come! It's nearly five o'clock, and she's not in sight yet. I wish I had thought of watching from my bedroom window, I could have seen then when she left the cottage."
The speaker, Margaret Fowler, started up from her seat beneath the lilac tree, and ran across the lawn in the direction of the gate which led from the grounds of Greystone into the road. Beneath the lilac tree sat Mrs. Fowler in a comfortably padded wicker chair, with a small table laden with papers and magazines at her side. She glanced after her little daughter with a slightly amused smile, then remonstrated with Gerald, who was playing near by, for making a noise.
"You will give me a headache, if you keep on doing that," she said, as he cannoned two croquet balls against each other. "Pray, be quiet!"
Gerald chose not to obey. He continued his game, utterly regardless of his mother's command.
"Do stop, Gerald!" she exclaimed. "I really cannot bear that noise any longer. Oh, where is Miss Conway? Why isn't she here to look after you? Gerald, to oblige me, find some other amusement, there's a dear boy!"
"Why do you not obey your mother, sir?" demanded a stern voice. And suddenly the little boy dropped the croquet-mallet from his hand, and turned to face his father.
"That's right, Gerald!" Mrs. Fowler said hastily. "He hasn't been doing anything wrong, Henry," she continued, glancing apprehensively at her husband, "only—you know how absurdly nervous I am—I can't bear any sharp, sudden noise. It's foolish of me, I know."
Gerald now ran after his sister, and Mr. Fowler stood with his hand on the back of his wife's chair, looking, down at her with grave attention.
"You should make the boy obey you, my dear," he said. "Has not your visitor arrived yet?"