Mr. Thornton looked at Cornelius with ironical triumph. The young man seemed disgusted, and said warmly, "I never meant, sir, that Margaret Burns was a starved, ill-used child. Heaven forbid! But I meant to say that she is left to solitude, idleness, and disgraceful ignorance."
"Upon my word, Mr. O'Reilly," observed Mr. Thornton, pushing away his map, as if to survey Cornelius better,—"upon my word, you meddle in my family arrangements with praiseworthy coolness."
"Mr. Thornton," replied Cornelius, not a whit disconcerted, and looking at him very calmly, "I brought the child to you; this gives me a right to interfere, which you have yourself acknowledged by not checking me at once."
Mr. Thornton gave him an odd look, then grunted a sort of assent, looked at his map, and said impatiently—
"Granted; but not that the child is not treated as she ought to be. Still, within reasonable bounds, she shall be judge in her own case. Do you hear?" he added, turning towards me, "if you want for anything, say so, and you shall get it."
"I want to go away," I said at once.
"Very well; I shall send you to school."
"But I want to go with Mr. O'Reilly."
"Mr. O'Reilly is welcome to you," sarcastically replied my grandfather; "he may take you, drop you on the way, do what he likes with you—if he chooses to have you!" I ran to Cornelius.
"Shall I get ready?" I asked eagerly.