Nora's eyes filled with sudden tears.
“It is only that I am keeping in so much,” she said; “and—and, oh! I do wish you were not all quite so tidy. I am just mad for somebody to be wild and unkempt. I feel that I could take down my hair, or tear a rent in my dress—anything rather than the neatness. Oh! I hate your landscapes, and your trim hedges, and your trim house, and your—”
“Go on,” said Molly; “let it out; let it out. I'll never repeat it. You must come in, in about a quarter of an hour, to a stiff meal. You will have to sit upright, let me tell you, and not lounge; and you will have to eat your bread and butter very nicely, and sip your tea, and not eat overmuch. Mother does not approve of it. Then when tea is over you will have to leave the room and go upstairs and get things out for dinner.”
“My things out for dinner?” gasped Nora. “What do you mean?”
“Your evening-dress. Do you suppose you will be allowed to dine in your morning-dress?”
“Oh, to be sure,” said Nora, brightening; “now I understand. Mother did get me a white frock, and she had it cut square in the neck, and the sleeves are a little short.”
“You will look sweet in that,” said Molly, gazing at her critically; “and I will bring you in a bunch of sweet-peas to put in your belt, and you can have a little bunch in your hair, too, if you like. You know you are awfully pretty. I am sure Linda is just mad with jealousy about it; I can see it, although she does not say anything. She is rather disparaging about you, is Linda; that is one of her dear little ways. She runs people down with faint praise. She was talking a lot about you as we were going to school this morning. She began: 'You know, I do think Nora is a pretty girl; but it is such a pity that—'”
“Oh, don't,” said Nora, suddenly putting out her hand and closing Molly's lips.
“What in the world are you doing that for?” said Molly.
“Because I don't want to hear; she did not mean me to know that she said these things.”