“What a terrible day to-morrow promises to be,” said Marjorie, glancing towards Eileen. “I can see that mother is going to let the vials of her wrath loose. Oh yes, you dear old mammy, you are—you cannot deny it. But we are not such dreadful girls after all. All we want to do is this: we want to go our own way.”
“Your own way, Eileen—your own way?”
“Yes, mammy, our own way; and you can go yours. Then we shall get on together like a house on fire. Now, what are you winking at me for, Letitia?”
“I was not winking at you,” said Letitia. “I was wondering if Aunt Helen would like to hear me sing.”
“Certainly, my dear; but I never knew before that you had a voice.”
“I have only a little voice; but I have made the most of my opportunities. I won’t sing if you would rather not.”
“On the contrary, dear; I should like to hear you.”
“A ballad, I suppose?” said Letitia.
“Yes; I am fond of ballads. What do you know?”
“All the usual ones, I think,” replied Letitia. “I will sing ‘Robin Adair’ if that will suit you.”