This could not be doubted; but it was no satisfaction to Margaret. "It is very unkind of you, Lucy," she said. "You sometimes tell me you love me; and yet you don't seem inclined to put yourself in the least out of your way to please me. You know very well that there will be no pleasure in London if you are away; we shall go nowhere and see nothing."
"Yes, I know it; but it can't be helped."
"That odious Emily Morton!" exclaimed Margaret; "she has been a torment in one way or another ever since she entered the house."
"And she will never be anything else," said Miss Cunningham; "I wish you joy of her."
"But is there nothing to be done?" again asked Margaret, whilst several most impracticable plans passed quickly through her mind, all having for their object the removal of this serious obstacle to her enjoyment.
"I can see nothing," was the answer; "unless you can make her go and see her friends whilst you are absent."
"I don't think she has any friends," said Margaret, "except an aunt, who is abroad; that is, she has never asked to go away, so I suppose she has no place to go to."
"That makes the case a great deal worse. If she has no friends you may depend upon it you will be burdened with her for ever."
"I believe, though," said Margaret, "there is a Mrs or Miss Somebody, who was her governess once, who could keep her for some time; but then, you know, it is no use talking about it; there is no chance of our being able to do anything."
"The loss will be more yours than mine," replied Miss Cunningham; "it will be just the same to me next year; but you will miss everything."