“Yes, the Maggie Howland; the one who has got the power, the charm, the fascination.”
“Oh, oh!” said Cicely. “But why is she with you? How has it happened?”
“She is not absolutely with us yet; and as to how it happened I cannot exactly tell you. We had a telegram from her late last night asking if she might come to-day to spend a week or fortnight, and of course we wired back ‘Yes.’ We are delighted; but of course you may not like her, girls.”
“Like her! like her!” said Cicely; “and after all you have said too! We shall be certain to more than like her.”
“She’s not a bit pretty, so don’t expect it,” said Molly.
“We were brought up,” said Merry a little stiffly, “not to regard looks as anything at all.”
“Nonsense!” replied Molly. “Looks mean a great deal. I’d give I don’t know what to be beautiful; but as I am not I don’t mean to fret about it. Well, Maggie’s downright plain; in fact—in fact—almost ugly, I may say; and yet—and yet, she is just Maggie; and you are not five minutes in 7 her society before you’d rather have her face than any other face in the world. But the immediate question is: may she come this afternoon, or may she not?”
“Of course—of course she may come,” said Cicely; “we’ll be delighted, we’ll be charmed to see her. This is pleasant news!”
“I think, perhaps,” said Merry, “we ought to go and ask mother. Don’t you think so, Cis?”
“Of course we ought,” said Cicely. “I forgot that. Just stay where you are, Molly, and I’ll run to the house and find mother. It’s only to ask her, for of course she will give leave.”