Mr. Hartrick nodded to Molly. “She will see a great deal more to delight her than just the old ocean,” he said.
Molly was silent. They arrived at the house; the butler was standing on the steps, a nice, stylish-looking Englishman, in neat livery. He came down, opened the carriage door, let down the steps, and offered his arm to Nora to alight; but she pushed past him, bounded up the steps, and the next moment found herself in her mother's arms.
“How do you do, my dear Nora?” said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan. “I am glad to see you, dear, but also surprised. You acted in your usual headstrong fashion.”
“Oh, another time, mother. Mummy, how are you? I am glad to see you again; but don't scold me now; just wait. I'll bear it all patiently another time. How is the dad, mummy?—how is the dad?”
“Your father is doing nicely, Nora; there was not the slightest occasion for you to hurry off and give such trouble and annoyance.”
“I don't suppose I have given annoyance to father,” said Nora. “Where is he—in his old room?”
“No; we moved him upstairs to the best bedroom. We thought it the wisest thing to do; he was in considerable pain.”
“The best bedroom? Which is the best bedroom?” said Nora. “Your room, mummy?”
“The room next to mine, darling. And just come and have a look at the drawing room, Nora.”
“I will go to father first,” said Nora. “Don't keep me; I can't stay.”