Heiress of McGregor.
"Oh, Marion, how glad I am!"
Marion was usually fond of Therese, but she was in no mood for talking with any one just now, much less for giving an account of her tardiness. She would have preferred to go on indulging her day-dream to the end of her walk. Moreover, she felt it an injustice that Tom Beaubien's daughter should have such large black eyes and curling black hair, while her own eyes were blue and her hair straight and light brown.
"I was detained," she answered, rather stiffly; and then, more good-naturedly, she added, "Where are you going so late with your basket?"
"Home," answered Therese, gayly—"home to stay with mother till Monday. Mrs. Tremaine is good enough to spare me so long, and she has sent mother, oh, such a fine chicken pie and some apples."
"Mrs. Tremaine is very good to your mother, isn't she?" said Marion, not much interested, but willing to divert Theresa's attention from her own troubles.
"Indeed she is, and Miss Tilly and Miss Kitty as well. Oh, I should be so happy there, only for leaving mother alone all the week. If she would only move to the village! But no; she says she cannot live in a crowd."
"And you like living at Mrs. Tremaine's?"
"Yes, indeed, especially since I have begun lessons."
"Lessons!" repeated Marion. "I thought you were working?"