“Oh, I am glad to see you,” said Nora. Her depression vanished on the spot. She felt that, naughty as doubtless Molly was, she could get on with her.
“Come, let's take a squint at you,” said the eldest Miss Hartrick; “come over here to the light.”
Molly took Nora by both hands over to the window.
“Now then, let's have a category of your charms. Terence has been telling us that you are very pretty. You are. Come, Linda; come and look at her. Did you ever see such black hair? And it's as soft as silk.”
Molly put up a rather large hand and patted Nora somewhat violently on the head.
“Oh, don't!” said Nora, starting back.
“My dear little cousin, I am a very rough specimen, and you must put up with me if you mean to get on at The Laurels. We are all stiff and staid here; we are English of the English. Everything is done by rule of thumb—breakfast to the minute, lunch to the minute, afternoon tea to the minute, dinner to the minute, even tennis to the minute. Oh! it's detestable; and I—I am expected to be good, and you know there's not a bit of goodness in me. I am all fidgets, and you can never be sure of me for two seconds at a time. I am a worry to mother and a worry to father; and as to Terence—oh, my dear creature, I am so truly thankful you are not like Terence! Here I drop a courtesy to his memory. What an awfully precise man he will make by and by! I did not know you turned out that kind of article in Ireland.”
Nora's face, over which many emotions had been flitting, now looked grave.
“You know that Terence is my brother?” she said slowly.
Molly gazed at her; then she burst into a fit of hearty laughter.