Then she flushed, and the wistful, eager expression went out of her eyes.
"Perhaps I had better not," she said.
"Why so, my dear child?"
Marjorie was thinking of Ermengarde. She could not complain of her sister, but to sit by and witness her disobedience would destroy her own pleasure.
"Ermie wouldn't like it, either," she whispered under her breath. "I wish I hadn't got honest eyes; Ermie says they look so horrid when I don't like a thing."
"Well, Marjorie, are you going, or are you not?" said Miss Nelson.
"I think not, Miss Nelson," said Marjorie, in a cheerful voice. "Nurse says Bob is sure to have another teething fit, so of course he'll be fractious, and she'll want me to pick up shells for him."
"Well, dear, you must please yourself," answered Miss Nelson gently.
She never praised Marjorie for being unselfish—no one did—they only said it was her way, and all the people with whom she came in contact took small kindnesses and small services from her as a matter of course.
Ermengarde was alone in her room, and the house was delightfully still. She waited for another moment, and then going over to the fireplace rang a bell. In a few minutes the schoolroom maid, looking very cross and astonished, answered the summons.