“Father's just gone downstairs. I think we had better wait a minute or two. In that way we shall escape a scolding. Father won't miss the ten o'clock.”
“Not a bad idea. You are always up to some cunning dodge. What's the time?”
“Twenty minutes to nine. I'll slip down the passage and tell Grace to go down and give him his breakfast. He won't say anything to her; he knows well that since Fatty went to India she wouldn't see a soul if she could help it.”
“Father never says anything to you either; you tell him a lot of lies, and leave him to understand that I do everything.”
“That's not true; I never speak against you to father; but at the same time I must say that if it weren't for you we could do as we liked. You don't try to manage father.”
“Manage him, indeed! that's what I can't bear in you, you're always trying to manage some one; I hate the word.”
“You got out of bed the wrong side this morning. However, I must go and tell Grace to go down at once, or father will be ringing for us.”
“What did she say?” said Sally, when Maggie returned.
“'Tis all right; I got her to go, and she said she was always being made a cat's-paw of. I assure you it wasn't easy to persuade her to go down to father, but I told her she might be the means of averting a very serious row.”
“I suppose you said there was no counting on what answers I might make to father?”