"Why, I mean I've hit upon a plan; no, not exactly a plan;—I have decided what my apology shall be."
"Oh!" said Florence, "do you know just what you are going to say?"
"No, not precisely; that is, I have not yet settled upon any exact form of words, but I have got my ideas together, and I really think it will be something quite out of the common line."
Florence looked up inquisitively, for Marion's face or voice by no means expressed the repugnance which she had heretofore shown whenever she had spoken of the coming apology. In fact she looked rather triumphant, and a little, amused smile played about the corners of her mouth, as she bent over her work.
"Now, Mab," exclaimed Florence, "I know you are up to something! Do tell me what it is that evidently amuses you so much?"
"Oh, nothing particular," replied Marion; but in a tone which said plainly enough that there was something very particular indeed.
"Now, Mab, you needn't tell me!"
"That is exactly what I don't mean to do," provokingly replied Marion.
"Oh, don't be disagreeable! You know I am positively dying with curiosity; so out with it!" and Florence tossed her own work on to the bed, and, catching hold of Marion's canvas, threw it behind her, as she established herself on her friend's lap.
"Well, I'm sorry, my dear; but if your life depends on my telling you anything particular to-day, I am afraid you will come to an early grave."