“It was Virgie laughing, not I,” said Pinkie, resolving savagely in her young mind that her house, when she should have one, should have uncarpeted stairs, and not a portière from cellar to garret. “And what she was laughing at, I’m sure I can’t tell. You must ask her.”
“Prices’ wagon left a package for you,” observed Frank grimly; “I suppose it was that,” pointing disdainfully to the box in Pinkie’s hand.
“This?” Henry Randolph, still with his genial smile, suddenly became aware of the dainty object, took and opened it. “Very pretty indeed,” he said cheerfully; “but they’ll break all to pieces if they indulge in shoe-boxes in this style; and you will be short of pocket-money for a month or more, you extravagant child.”
“I fear you don’t exactly grasp the situation, sir,” said Frank with fine scorn; “she won’t waste any pocket-money on those things. It’s a birthday present.”
“A present, eh? well, they won’t lose by it. Present and advertisement mean much the same to tradespeople.”
“Not when they’re as cheeky”—
“There, there, Frank, don’t tease your sister! There’s no cheek in the case, though, of course, a birthday is rather more personal than Christmas; but one can’t expect nice discriminations from people of that class. It was meant as a delicate attention, and I wish Pinkie to accept it as such.”
Upon which, Dr. Richards and Alice entered the room, to the great relief of Pinkie, who was able to sweep her “present” up in both hands, and carry it off to her own room.
Pinkie had remained in her aunt’s care ever since her mother’s death; an arrangement which at once set her father free to look after his business, and enabled him to add considerably to his sister’s income under color of paying board for his daughter and her nurse. But for the fact that Alice’s religious views continued very unsettled, Henry Randolph’s mind would have been tolerably easy about his family; for Dr. Richards’s influence upon his wife’s faith had fully justified her brother’s opposition to the marriage, and the fortune left in his hands had been multiplied twenty-fold by “judicious management.” But that Pinkie should be tainted with materialism, rationalism, or socialism, would indeed have been a misfortune; and it had been with true paternal delight that her father observed her pretty little head to be too full of herself and her own affairs to leave room for any kind of “ism” whatsoever. Harry’s sudden death, from causes which his father had never so much as suspected, had, however, rather shaken that gentleman’s faith in his own clear-sightedness, and he had come to Micklegard for his semi-annual visit to his daughter, prepared to observe closely, and act promptly, if necessary.
Before dinner was announced, Frank found an opportunity of interviewing his father, in the bay window.