“Well, here I am!” said Maggie. “And how is Belle? How good-natured of you all to have me, and how delightful it is to smell the delicious country air! Mother and I find town so hot and stuffy. I haven’t brought a great lot of luggage, and I am not a bit smart; but you won’t mind that—will you, dear old Belle?”
“You always talk about not being smart, Maggie; but you manage to look smarter than anyone else,” said Isabel, her eager brown eyes devouring her friend’s appearance with much curiosity. For Maggie looked, to use a proverbial phrase, as if she had stepped out of a bandbox. If she was plain of face she had an exceedingly neat figure, and there was a fashionable, trim look about her which is uncommon in a girl of her age; for Maggie was only just sixteen, and scarcely looked as much. In some ways she might almost have been a French girl, so exceedingly neat and comme il faut was her little person. She was built on a petite scale, and although her face was so plain, she had lovely hands and beautiful small feet. These feet were always shod in the most correct style, and she took care of her hands, never allowing them to get red or sunburnt. 9
“Where’s Molly?” was her remark, as the two girls, with their arms twined round each other, entered the wide, low hall which was one of the special features of the old rectory.
“She has gone up to see the Cardews.”
“Who are the Cardews?”
“Why, surely, Mags, you must have heard of them?”
“You don’t mean,” said Maggie with a laugh, and showing a gleam of strong white teeth, “the two little ladies who live in a bandbox?”
“Oh, you really must not laugh at them,” said Isabel, immediately on the defensive for her friends; “but they do lead a somewhat exclusive life. Molly has gone up to the Castle, as we always call Meredith Manor, to announce your arrival, and to ask permission to bring you there to a tennis-party this afternoon; so you will soon see them for yourself. Now, come in and say good-morning to the mater; she is longing to see you.”
“Hello, Peterkins!” called out Maggie at that moment, as a small boy with a smut across his face suddenly peeped round a door.
“I’m not Peterkins!” he said angrily.