Mr. Martin, however, was in a radiant humor. “Now then, Little-sing,” he said, addressing Mrs. Howland, “where’s the tea! Poor Bo-peep wants his tea. He’s hungry and he’s thirsty, is Bo-peep. Little-sing will pour out Bo-peep’s tea 84 with her own pretty, elegant hands, and butter his muffins for him, and Cross-patch in the corner can keep herself quiet.”
“May I go into our bedroom, mother?” said Maggie at that juncture.
“No, miss, you may not,” said Martin, suddenly rousing himself from a very comfortable position in the only easy-chair the room afforded. “I have something to say to you, and when I have said it you may do what you please.”
“Stay quiet, dear Maggie, for the present,” said Mrs. Howland.
The poor woman felt a queer sense of shame. Bo-peep and Little-sing had quite an agreeable time together when they were alone. She did not mind the boisterous attentions of her present swain; but with Maggie by there seemed to be a difference. Maggie made her ashamed of herself.
Maggie walked to the window, and, taking a low chair, sat down. Her heart was beating heavily. There was such a misery within her that she could scarcely contain herself. Could anything be done to rescue her mother from such a marriage? She was a very clever girl; but, clever as she was, she could see no way out.
Meanwhile Mr. Martin drank his tea with huge gulps, ate a quantity of muffins, pooh-poohed the gooseberries as not worth his attention, and then said, “Now, Victoria, my dearest dear, I am ready to propound my scheme to your offspring.—Come forward, Popsy-wopsy, and listen to what new pa intends to do for you.”
Maggie rose, feeling that her limbs were turned to ice. She crossed the room and stood before Mr. Martin.
“Well?” she said.
“None of those airs, Popsy.”