"No more of that, pray, Dora. You know very well that the reason you laugh is because you are jealous of her being fonder of me than of you."
"Jealous! Me jealous of her! with her sandy hair and freckled——" but here Dora stopped.
"Well," exclaimed Margaret, who always felt a secret satisfaction at
Miss Cunningham's plain face, though she would not acknowledge it to
herself; "I thought you professed not to care about beauty—to be sure,
Lucy is not lovely."
"I do not wish to say anything more about her," said Dora; "for I generally get angry; only I would give something if she were not coming here on Saturday."
Margaret had not time to reply before Dora was gone, for she had lately learned to distrust her powers of self-command, and to think silence preferable to argument. The next few days were spent by Amy in great enjoyment—everything went smoothly and pleasantly. Dora was thoughtful and kind, Margaret in good humour, her uncle affectionate, and her aunt seldom in her way; and, above all, Emily Morton was admitted to her mamma's room, and from their long conversations, and Emily's expressions of gratitude and interest, it was quite evident that she began to consider Mrs Herbert in the light of a real friend. Not that the conversations which passed between them were at all such as Amy imagined. There was very little said about Emmerton, still less about Mrs Harrington; but Mrs Herbert led Emily to talk of her father and mother, her aunt, her early home, and her childish days; and gave her some valuable advice as to the manner in which persons in her position should conduct themselves, without obliging her to make complaints which considering her own near connection with Mrs Harrington, would have been awkward and wrong.
Amongst Amy's pleasures during this happy time, one of the greatest was a visit to the rectory with Miss Morton, on the afternoon preceding Christmas-day. Their reception was even more affectionate than usual; and as they walked home, the distance seemed only too short, whilst she listened to Emily's praises of the persons whom, next to her mamma, she most loved and venerated.
"To-morrow will be Christmas-day," she said, as she lingered in Miss Morton's room on her return; "and the next day Miss Cunningham will be here; so I suppose we shall not be able to get a walk to the rectory again, yet; but if you would tell me when you go out, that I may be with you if I can, I should be so very glad. You know I like you so much better than Miss Cunningham."
"I doubt if Miss Cunningham is a favourite with any one but your cousin Margaret," was the reply; "but she has so much to spoil her, that I do not think we ought to be hard upon her."
"It is so odd that you should pity her, as you always do," said Amy. "Now I should like so much to be her,—that is, not herself, but to be my own self, with her rank and fortune; and then I would get such a pretty little room for you, and you should come and live with me, if you would."
"And do nothing all day but amuse myself?"