“Yes, sir,” said Maggie. “I am exceedingly sorry—bitterly sorry—that my mother is going to marry again; but as she cares for you”––
“Which I do!” said Mrs. Howland, who was now reduced to tears.
“I have nothing more to say,” continued Maggie, “except that I hope she will be happy. But I, sir, am my father’s daughter as well as my mother’s, and I cannot for a single moment accept your offer. It is impossible. I must go on with my own education as best I can.”
“Then you re-fuse,” said Martin, “to join your mother and me?”
“Yes,” said Maggie, “I refuse.”
“Has she anything to live on, ma?” asked Mr. Martin.
“Oh, dear James,” said Mrs. Howland, “don’t take all the poor child says in earnest now! She’ll be down on her knees to you to-morrow. I know she will. Leave her to me, James dear, and I’ll manage her.”
“You can manage most things, Little-sing,” said Mr. Martin; “but I don’t know that I want that insolent piece. She is very different from you. If she is to be about our pleasant, cheerful home snubbing me and putting on airs—why, I’ll have none of it. Let her go, Victoria, I say—let her go if she wants to; but if she comes to me she must come in a cheerful spirit, and joke with me, and take my fun, and be as agreeable as you are yourself, Little-sing.”
“Well, at least,” said Mrs. Howland, “give us till to-morrow. The child is surprised; she will be different to-morrow.”
“I hope so,” said Mr. Martin; “but if there’s any philandering, or falling back, or if there’s any on-gratitude, I’ll have naught to do with her. I only take her to oblige you, Victoria.”