“You ought not to speak in that tone to your uncle,” she said; “you can never, never know all that he has done for us. He is the noblest, the most generous, the best man in the world.”
“Oh, I know all that, mother; I know all that,” said Nora. She did not add, “But for me he would never have done it. It was I who inserted the thin edge of the wedge.” Her tone was gentle; her mother looked at her with a softening of her own face.
“Well, dear,” she said, “your Uncle George has taken a great fancy to you. Notwithstanding your eccentricities, Nora—and they are considerable—he says you have the making of a fine girl. But come, we must not neglect your cousin. Come here, dear Molly; you and Nora will be interested in seeing what a beautiful place Castle O'Shanaghgan is now.”
Molly took hold of Nora's other hand, and they entered the drawing room. It was lit with soft candles in many sconces; the blinds were down; across the windows were drawn curtains of Liberty silk of the palest, softest shade of rose. On the floor was a carpet of many soft colors cunningly mingled. The walls were painted a pale artistic green, large mirrors were introduced here and there, and old family portraits, all newly framed, of dead and gone O'Shanaghgans, hung on the painted walls. There were new tables, knick-knacks—all the various things which constitute the drawing room of an English lady.
Nora felt for one brief, passionate, angry moment that she was back again at The Laurels; but then, seeing the light in her mother's eyes, the pink flush of happiness on her cheeks, she restrained herself.
“It makes you happy, mummy,” she said, “and——”
“But what do you think of it, my darling?”
“It is a very beautiful room.”
“Ah! that is right. I thought my little wildflower would appreciate all these things when she came back again. Ah, Nora! you have been a naughty, wild imp; but your father was delighted when he heard what you had done. Of course I am terribly angry.”
“No, you are not, mummy; you are pleased to see me again.”