“Come, come,” said Martin, patting her hand; “it’s all right about Laburnum Villa, ain’t it, my girl?”
“No, Mr. Martin,” said Maggie then.
She withdrew her hand and turned and looked at him fixedly. “I want to tell you all about myself,” she said. “I was really rude to you yesterday, and I am sorry; but I couldn’t go to live with you and mother at Laburnum Villa. I will tell you the principal reason why I couldn’t go.”
“Oh, come, come, you’re only a child; you must do what you are told. Your mother has no money to give you, and you can’t live on air, you know. Air is all very well, but it don’t keep folks alive. You’ll have to come to me whether you like it or not.”
“Before you come to that determination, Mr. Martin, may I tell you something about myself?”
“Oh dear! I hope it isn’t a long story.”
“It’s very important, and not very long. I am not the least like mother”––
“My good girl, any one can see that. Your mother’s a remarkably pretty and elegant woman, and you’re the plainest young person I ever came across.”
“I am plain,” said Maggie; “and, in addition, I am by no means good-natured.”
“Oh, you admit that? For shame!”