She sprang up and began dressing in feverish haste.
Punctuality was one of the minor virtues which the captain was particular in enforcing; but to appear at the table looking otherwise than neat, would be a still more serious breach of discipline than to be a trifle behind time.
“Oh, dear, why did I sleep so late?” she said, giving herself an impatient shake. “I sha’n’t have time to do every thing I ought to and get to the dining-room to sit down with the rest, and papa will be displeased; and I do so hate to have him displeased with me. There, I hear his voice in the next room! Gracie will have him all to herself, and I shall miss every bit of the nice talk before breakfast.”
The old adage, “The more haste, the less speed,” found exemplification in her experience on this occasion. In vain she tried to dress with dispatch; the comb tangled in her hair, a button came off her boot, she couldn’t pin her collar straight, and in the midst of her efforts to do so, the bell rang.
“There it goes! and I haven’t said my prayers yet; I’ll have to omit them this time. But perhaps papa will ask me about it; he sometimes does.”
She knelt for a hurried sentence or two, putting no heart into them, rose up hastily and ran down to the dining-room.
The blessing had been asked and her father was helping the plates. He gave her a grave look as she took her place at the table.
“Good-morning, daughter,” he said; “you are quite behind time; what is your excuse?”
“I overslept myself, papa; and then everything seemed to go wrong with my dressing.”
“You must try to be more punctual,” he said. “I was sorry to miss my morning kiss from my eldest daughter, and the little chat we usually have before breakfast,” he added in a kindly tone.