"It is nice to be wicked sometimes," said Margot, with untold fun flashing in her beautiful eyes.
"No, no, little one, it is wrong to be wicked, and I am deceiving the best of women; I feel it terribly on my conscience."
"Who is the best of women, Jacko, darling?" inquired little Margot.
"There now, then, I'll tell you if you'll listen to me. It's that aunt of yours, Priscilla Mansfield."
"Oh!" exclaimed Margot. "Jacko, your conscience is too tender. It wants some kisses. Three kisses on each cheek—three kisses on your forehead and three on your lips. Now you are better, are you not?"
"Yes, I'm better," replied Uncle Jack, "but remember, Margot, asthore, that you have got to obey me to the very letter."
"Course," replied Margot. "I couldn't do anything else."
"Well then, you listen. You stay at Desmondstown in the county of Kerry for one week and no longer, and during that time you're on no account to speak against your aunt to the Desmonds. This is Friday. You will get to Desmondstown to-morrow. To-morrow week I'll be waiting on the pier to get you off the steamer."
"Yes, uncle, I'll do everything."