"You are quite a Revolutionist, Margery," said Aldean, "and a poetess to boot. E. B. Browning; Sappho in a Phrygian cap, eh?"
The little girl shook her red curls. "I aspire to be like Louise Michel," she said solemnly, "the noblest of all women."
"Wouldn't you rather grow up like Miss Bellairs," said Mallow, persuasively.
"Ah!" groaned Mrs. Drabble, dismally, "where are the education and money to come from?"
"I love Olive. I am very fond of Olive," said Margery judiciously, "but I do not approve of her choice of a husband."
"Don't you indeed," laughed Mallow.
"No. I have advised her to marry either you or Lord Aldean."
"Margery, Margery, do not be so pert."
"I am not pert, mother, I am a Thinker."
"With a large T," said Aldean, rising. "Well, Margery, you must come and see me soon, and we will ravage the orchards."