“Oh, you have written to your parents,” she said. “Quite right, my dear. But why put them into separate envelopes? They could go nicely in one. That, really, is willful waste, Nora, which we in England never permit.”
“Oh, please, don't change them, Aunt Grace,” said Nora, as Mrs. Hartrick took the two letters up and paused before opening one of the envelopes. “Please, please, let them go as they are. It's my own stamp,” she continued, losing all sense of grammar in her excitement.
“Well, my dear, just as you please. There, don't excite yourself, Nora. I only suggested that, when one stamp would do, it was rather wasteful to spend two.”
“Oh, daddy does like to get his own letters to his own self,” said Nora.
“Your father, you mean. You don't, surely, call him by the vulgar word daddy?”
“Bedad! but I do,” answered Nora.
Mrs. Hartrick turned and gave her niece a frozen glance. Presently she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder.
“I don't want to complain or to lecture you,” she said; “but that expression must not pass your lips again while you are here.”
“It shan't. I am ever so sorry,” said the girl.
“I think you are, dear; and how flushed your cheeks are! You seem quite tired. Now, go upstairs and wash your hands; the luncheon-gong will ring in five minutes, and we must be punctual at meals.”