“They none of them care,” thought Nora. “I don't believe Uncle George will do anything; but all the same I have got to ask him. He was nice about my letter, I will own that; but will he really, really help?”
“A penny for your thoughts, Nora, my dear,” said Mrs. Hartrick at this moment.
Nora glanced up with a guilty flush.
“Oh, I was only thinking,” she began.
“Yes, dear, what about?”
“About father.” Nora colored as she spoke, and Linda fixed her eyes on her face.
“Very pretty indeed of you, my dear, to think so much of your father,” said Mrs. Hartrick; “but I cannot help giving you a hint. It is not considered good manners for a girl to be absent-minded while she is in public. You are more or less in public now; I am here, and your cousins, and it is our bounden duty each to try and make the others pleasant, to add to the enjoyment of the meal by a little graceful conversation. Absent-mindedness is very dull for others, my dear Nora; so in future try not to look quite so abstracted.”
Nora colored again. Molly, at the other end of the table, bit her lip furiously, and stretched out her hand to help herself to another thick piece of bread and butter. In doing so she upset a small milk-jug; a stream of milk flowed down the tablecloth, and Mrs. Hartrick rose in indignation.
“This is the fourth evening running you have spilt something on the tablecloth, Molly. Go to your room immediately.”
Molly rose, dropped a mocking courtesy to her mother, and left the room.