“Why, of course, Mags,” said Molly.
“Well, it’s this: from what you told me of your friends, they must be the most profoundly uninteresting girls.”
“Oh no, indeed they are not!” said Isabel stanchly. “Merry has a great deal in her, and Cicely is so nice-looking! We think she will be beautiful by-and-by; but Merry undoubtedly has the most character. Then there is something dignified and aristocratic about them, and yet they are not really proud, although they might be, for they are so rich, and Meredith Manor is such a wonderful old house.”
“Didn’t you tell me,” said Maggie, “that Meredith Manor belonged to Mrs. Cardew?”
“Did I?” said Isabel, coloring in some confusion. “I am sure I don’t know; I don’t remember saying it. I don’t think Mrs. Cardew is the sort of woman who would call anything hers apart from her husband. She is devoted to him, and no wonder, for he is quite charming. He is nearly as charming as father, and that’s saying a great deal.”
“Do let’s come on. We’ll be late!” said Molly impatiently.
“No, not quite yet, please,” said Maggie. “I want to understand the position. Mrs. Cardew was a Miss Meredith?”
“Yes, dear Maggie; but what does that matter?”
“And,” continued Maggie, “she was the heiress of Meredith Manor?”
“I suppose so. Father can tell you exactly.”