"That does not make any difference; I am quite sure, if you do not take care she will stand in your way in everything. Papa said, the other day, that he thought Mrs Harrington would have consented to our going to London, only she remembered your cousin; and then she declared, as she should feel obliged to take her, the plan would not do."
Margaret's vexation was very great, yet she could not entirely enter into her companion's antipathy; she had felt too much the charm of Amy's sweet temper and obliging disposition to be able cordially to abuse her. But Miss Cunningham loved the sound of her own voice too well to require an answer; and the expression of her own likings and dislikings was all that was important to her. "George provokes me so," she said, "he does nothing, now, but lecture me from morning till night, and wish I was like her. Really, I think he might find some one my own equal in rank for me to imitate, if he is so dissatisfied. I told him, as we were coming here, that if he said anything about her being with us in London, I would not go till next year; and I may have quite my own way about it. So I have put a stop to that."
Margaret was annoyed, though she did not like to appear so. Miss Cunningham's superior age and rank kept her always considerably in awe; but she was painfully struck by the want of ladylike feeling, which had induced her friend to speak in such terms of so near a relation.
Miss Cunningham, however, could never discover when she had said or done anything amiss. From her childhood her perception on such subjects had been singularly obtuse; and nothing in her education had served to quicken her knowledge of character; she went on, therefore, in the same tone, with the full impression that all her observations must be agreeable. "Dora tells me that there is no one invited here but a parcel of school-boys and girls; and really, I must say, it was hardly worth while to come six miles this cold weather merely for them—of course, I thought there was to be a dance."
Margaret endeavoured to explain her sister's statement. There were to be some boys, certainly, as companions for Frank—but there were to be other people besides; and, indeed, her mamma had sent out some more notes only this morning, because Dora said that she would rather have a great many to entertain than a few.
"Then there will be a dance," said Miss Cunningham. "How are you to amuse yourselves else?"
"It would be very nice," replied Margaret; "but I don't quite think papa and mamma have any notion of it. You know Christmas is not now what it was last year, when Edward was alive."
"Oh yes; to be sure—I know all that. Of course, you were all very miserable, and cried a great deal at the time. I remember I was dreadfully wretched when my little brother William died. Indeed, mamma said she never knew any one with such strong feelings in her life. But, then, it is all past now; and it is right to be cheerful, and try and forget it."
"I wish you would ask mamma," said Margaret, "She would listen to you, at any rate; and she could not be angry at any proposal from you. It certainly would be a good way of amusing them."
"I don't mind, in the least, asking," answered Miss Cunningham. "I never did mind it, from a child. Mamma says it surprises her to see how little of the stupid shyness I have, which makes other girls so disagreeable. Let me see,—I shall wear my white silk, I think; there is a blonde fall to go with it, which makes it look beautiful. That or the pink crape. Pink suits my complexion best; but then it is not quite so dressy. There is a picture of some great lady in the saloon at Rochford, which papa says is just like me in my pink crape. Mary Queen of Scots, I think it is, or Queen Elizabeth—I don't know which; only it is a queen of some kind. What shall you wear?"