“You and I will get on,” she said. “I like you for sticking up for your brother. But now, my dear, I must go back. I am supposed to stay in my bedroom until to-morrow morning. Linda, if you tell—well, you'll have to answer to me when we are going to bed, that's all. By-by, Nora. I'll see you in the morning. Do get her some hot water, Linda. She's worth waiting on; she's a very nice sort of child, and very, very pretty. If that is the Irish sort of face, I for one shall adore it. Good-by, Nora, for the present.”
Molly banged herself away—her mode of exit could scarcely be called by any other name. As soon as the door had closed behind her Linda laughed.
“I ought to tell, you know,” she said in her precise voice; “it is very, very wrong of Molly to leave her bedroom when mother is punishing her.”
“But what has she done wrong?” asked Nora.
“Oh, went against discipline. She is at school, you know, and she would write letters during lessons. It is really very wrong of her, and Miss Scott had to complain; so mother said she should stay in her room, instead of being downstairs to welcome you. She is a good soul enough; but we none of us can discipline her. She is very funny; you'll see a lot of her queer cranks while you are here.”
“How old is she?” asked Nora.
“Between sixteen and seventeen; too old to be such a romp.”
“Only a little older than I am,” said Nora. “And how old are you, Linda?”
“Fifteen; they all tell me I look more.”
“You do; you look eighteen. You are very old for your age.”