“So it seems, my pet. But how nicely you have done your hair this morning! How very neat and ladylike you are becoming, Linda! You are a great comfort to me, dear.”
“Thank you, mother; I try to please you,” said Linda. She seated herself on her mother's bed, suppressed a sigh, then said eagerly:
“Nora is awfully put out. Is there bad news from that wild place, Castle O'Shanaghgan?”
“Bad news?” cried Mrs. Hartrick. “Has the child had letters?”
“Yes, two; she had been reading them instead of eating her breakfast, and the sighs and the groans, and the flashing eyes and the clenched teeth, and the jumping to her feet and the flopping herself down again have been past bearing. She won't let out anything except that she is downright miserable, and that it is a burning shame.”
“What can she mean, mother? Is the old place sold? I always expected they were terribly poor.”
“The best, most splendid news,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “My dear Linda, you must be mistaken. Your father says that he has given your aunt and uncle leave to tell Nora everything. I thought the child would be in the seventh heaven of bliss; in fact, I was almost dreading her arrival on the scene, she is so impetuous.”
“Well, mother, she is not in any seventh heaven of bliss,” replied Linda; “so perhaps they have not told her. But what is it, mother dear? Do tell me.”
“It is this, darling—your father has bought Castle O'Shanaghgan.”
“Oh! and given it to the O'Shanaghgans. Why did he do that?”