Margot rose with considerable dignity from her seat. She approached the two excited-looking, old young ladies. Their hair was sandy in tint and much mixed with grey, but their figures were slight as girls of fifteen, and they were evidently enjoying themselves to the utmost.
"Oh, pixie, pixie, don't come near us," cried Norah. "Mr. Flannigan, keep the pixie away for Heaven's sake."
"I'm not a pixie," said little Margot. "I know you are very young, Aunt Norah, and you are very young, Aunt Bridget, but I'm your niece for all that. I am Marguerite St. Juste. I've come to pay my relations a visit. Uncle Jack wrote a letter to The Desmond. The Desmond is my grandfather. Aren't you expecting me? I'm glad to come, but I'd like well to be expected."
The two Misses Desmond stared with all their might and main at the pretty child, then Miss Bridget Desmond gave a sort of whoop and spring in the air, while Miss Norah laughed till her sides shook.
"Heaven preserve us!" she exclaimed. "You don't suppose letters are ever read at Desmondstown? Oh, but we are right glad to see you—don't make any mistake on that point. We are as pleased as Punch, aren't we, Bridget?"
"That we are," said Bridget. "Don't hold my sash so tight, Mr. Flannigan, I can't be bothered playing horse any more."
"Oh, good little girls, dear little girls," said Mr. Flannigan, "I'll come in again to-morrow and play horses with all three of ye. But ye might introduce me to the small colleen."
"She's my niece," said Norah Desmond. "She's the daughter of my dearest beautiful sister, Kathleen, and there's scarce a year between the child and us, that I can vouch for."
"To be sure, ye needn't be talkin' about that," said Mr. Flannigan. "Why I see it in your faces—ye are three babies together."
Little Margot gave a quick sigh. She remembered, however, the words of Phinias and took no apparent notice of the fact that Aunt Norah must be close on fifty and Aunt Bridget forty-eight.