"We may not unreasonably infer, therefore, that other members of the family may be charming also. Now, my idea is this. Peggy is not going home this summer; why would it not be a good plan to send for her nearest sister—Jean, isn't she?—to come here and meet her brother and sister, and all have a good time together? What do you say?"
"Uncle John! I say that you are the very cleverest person in the world, as well as the dearest."
"A little house-party, you see," Mr. Montfort went on, beaming with pleasure at the delight that shone in Margaret's face. "And—we shall want another lad, it seems to me, possibly two lads. Why not ask young Merryweather and his brother for a couple of weeks? You liked the young fellow?"
"Oh, certainly, Uncle John!" Margaret suddenly became interested in tying up the Crimson Rambler that was straying over the verandah-rail. "Yes, indeed, I thought him very nice."
"And you like the idea? You don't think it would make too much work, too much responsibility, my dear little niece?"
Margaret was still busy with the rose, which proved quite refractory, but it was clear that she thought nothing of the sort. It would be altogether delightful, she said; and as for care—why, she had been longing for something to take her mind off missing the children, and—
"And to see Jean, too!" she cried, suddenly emerging from the rose-vine, with an unusual flush on her delicate cheek, and her gray eyes shining; "I have always wanted so to know the other Peggypods, as you call them, Uncle John; and now to have Hugh here, and Jean coming—oh, Uncle John, you are so dear!"
"Then that is all right," said Uncle John; "and I will go and telegraph to old Jim and tell him to send the little girl along. Shall we tell Peggy, or leave it for a surprise, eh? What do you say?"
"The surprise, by all means; Peggy loves a surprise, you know. Oh, how can I wait a whole week to see her?"
Mr. Montfort looked with pleasure at Margaret's sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks. He had hit on the right thing, evidently. Young people wanted young people; didn't he remember well enough—here he fell into a muse again, and said "Rose!" to himself two or three times. Perhaps he was thinking of the Crimson Rambler.