A little later, Meg whispered to Robert, “I believe she fainted on purpose!”
[CHAPTER XIX.]
“Sweet is every sound,
Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet.”
Meg was writing to her aunt, and Robert leaned over her shoulder and read: “So I will be married here, and then we will take a trip for Robert’s health. Auntie, please don’t suspect me of marrying for money, but did you guess they were rich? I didn’t, till I came here, and then I saw. Most of the rich people we know make such a vulgar display, and that is why, I suppose, I did not suspect it of them. I feel like a fairy princess—”
Meg stopped writing and leaned back in her chair. “Robert Malloy,” she said with pretended severity, “I am surprised that your mother never taught you it was impolite to look over people’s shoulders. I suppose she wanted to leave part of your education to me.”
“Speaking of fairy princesses, tell me the rest of that story you began the day that poor, dear little boy stubbed his poor, dear little toe.”
She blushed at the remembrance, but passed on the reference, and began her story without a preface: “Well, the beautiful, amiable princess, almost too good for this world, finally met her Prince, or at least a very good imitation of one, but he thought he was too good for this world—”
“I don’t think I care for your story,” and he pretended to yawn.
“And I don’t think you would make a good monk. You are not fat enough,” remarked Meg irrelevantly; and then, seeing a tense look on Robert’s face, she leaned forward and said contritely, “Oh, Bobbie, I never will make light of it again! Honest! Cross my heart and hope to die!”