“You will not succeed,” said Margaret. “Your sister is as strong a heroine in one direction as mine is in another.”
“She shall yield, however. She may be thankful that she is not here to-day. If she was, I would have her out upon the steps, and make her retract everything; and if she should not be able to speak, I would stand by her and say it for her.”
“Oh, Philip! what a horrible idea!”
“Not half so horrible as the mischief she has done. Why, Margaret, if you were one-tenth part as guilty as Priscilla is, I should require you to make reparation.”
“Indeed, I hope you would: or rather, that—”
“But do not let us conjure up such dreadful images, my Margaret. You never wronged any one, and you never will.”
“Edward never did, I am sure,” said Margaret.
“Not even by poisoning children, nor cutting off limbs for sport? Are you quite sure, love? What is Sir William doing here, with only his groom? He and the people look in high good-humour with each other, with all this shaking of hands, and nodding and laughing. I cannot conceive what he can be saying to them, for there are not three faces among the whole array that look as if they belonged to rational creatures.”
“Never mind,” said Margaret. “If what he says sends them away, I care for nothing else about it.”
“Oh, but I do. One would like to be favoured with a specimen of this kind of rural oratory. I ought to benefit by all the oratory that comes in my way, you know: so I shall just open the window an inch or two, now he is drawing hitherward, and take a lesson.”