“What a splendacious name!” interrupted Tod. “Magnolia!”
“She was named after the estate, Magnolia Range, a very beautiful place and one of the finest properties on the island,” said Coralie. “Magnolia lives with George, it was always her home, you see; and Verena does not take kindly to her. She complains that Magnolia domineers over the household and over herself. It is just one of Verena’s silly fancies; she always wants to be first and foremost; and I have written her one or two sharp letters.”
“Coralie,” I said here, “is not the girl, who showed us in, Maria?—she who used to live in those lodgings in London?”
Coralie nodded. “The last time I was staying in London, Maria came to me, saying she had left her place and was in want of one. I engaged her at once. I like the girl.”
“She is an uncommonly smart girl in the way of curls and caps,” remarked Tod.
“I like smart people about me,” laughed Coralie.
Who should come in then but Mrs. Cramp. She was smart. A flounced gown of shiny material, green in one light, red in another, and a purple bonnet with white strings. She was Stephen Cramp’s widow, formerly Mary Ann Chandler; her speech was honest and homely, and her comely face wore a look of perplexity.
“I don’t much like the look of things down yonder,” she began, nodding her head in the direction of North Villa and as she sat down her flounces went up, displaying her white cotton stockings and low, tied shoes. “I have been calling there again, and I can’t get in.”
“Nobody can get in,” said Coralie.
“They have put a chain on the door, and they answer people through it. No chain was ever there before, as long as I have known the house. I paid no attention to the things people were saying,” continued Mrs. Cramp; “but I did not much like something I heard last night. I’ll see the lady, I said to myself this morning, and down to the house I went, walked up the garden, and——”