Linda was a very fair girl. She could not have been more than fifteen years of age, and was not so tall as Nora; but she had almost the manners of a woman of the world, and Nora felt unaccountably shy of her.
“Now take your cousin up to her room. Supper will be ready in a quarter of an hour,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “Come, George; I have something to say to you.”
Mr. and Mrs. Hartrick disappeared into the drawing-room. Linda took Nora's hand. Nora glanced at Terence, who turned on his heel and went away.
“See you presently, sis,” he called out in what he considered a very manly tone; and Nora felt her heart, as she expressed it, sink down into her boots as she followed Linda up the richly carpeted stairs. Her feet sank into the velvety pile, and she hated the sensation.
“It is all a sort of feather-bed house,” she said to herself, “and I hate a feather-bed house. Oh, I can understand my dad better than ever to-night; but how mother would enjoy this!”
CHAPTER XIII. — “THERE'S MOLLY.”
As they were going upstairs Linda suddenly turned and looked full at her cousin.
“How very grave you are! And why have you that little frown between your brows? Are you vexed about anything?”