“I have long known,” said Dora, gravely, “that you were a very foolish child, always crying about nonsense and trifles; so I can easily believe you. No doubt you hurt your foot against a step, or pricked your finger with your brooch, and that made you cry.”
Hilary laughed a little, and did not answer otherwise.
“I want to come and stay with you at the Vicarage for some days,” continued Dora, in another voice. “Do ask me, I should so like it. Tell papa you want me.”
“I am afraid Mr. Barham would think I was taking too great a liberty in asking you, Dora.”
“Oh, no, he would not mind; you ask me, and he will let me go. You do want me, do you not?”
“Very much,” said Miss Duncan, kindly; “it would give me great pleasure indeed to have you there, but I hardly think you are likely to be permitted.”
“Oh, we will see,” said Dora; “now I am ready; are you? then come down.”
Mr. Huyton was down stairs with the other visitors when the girls descended; calm, self-possessed, and courteous; listening gracefully to Isabel, who was discussing a question on political economy with Mr. Ufford; while Mr. Barham sat by with a look of paternal pride.
Hilary ventured to make the request dictated by Dora; it was graciously received, treated as a very great kindness and honor, and if Miss Duncan liked to trouble herself with such a wild, thoughtless little child as Dora, he should be very happy at some future time; they would think of it.
“Mrs. Paine returns to Primrose Bank on Saturday,” suggested Dora, “let me go then to the Vicarage; it would suit Hilary very well, I know.”