"I thought maybe you wouldn't care so much now."
"Why not?" insisted Frances, greatly puzzled.
Emma thought of quoting her mother's proverb about birds of a feather, the application of which she did not exactly understand; but she only said, "Oh, because you are rich, I suppose."
"But I'm not rich,—any richer than I ever was."
"Your aunt is."
"But why should that make me not like you? I don't like you to think such a thing about me," and Frances looked aggrieved.
"I didn't really think it, only—sometimes it does make a difference, you know," Emma said.
"Well, it won't to me, for I shall always like you, Emma," was Frances' reassuring reply, and Emma was satisfied.
Among other pleasant things, Frances and her aunt were arranging a little surprise for Mr. Morrison's birthday, which was to be celebrated by a dinner to which a number of cousins and old family friends were asked.
The travellers, who returned the night before, found a very happy little girl waiting for them in the carriage at the station.