The matter is arranged at last; and Peggy puts on her hat and gloves again to depart. As she repasses the nursery door she finds that an entire change of decoration has taken place. Instead of the young cynic defiantly buttoning her boots in the teeth of the law, she sees a little pious figure in a white nightgown, kneeling by its nurse's side. The instant, however, that the saintly little form catches sight of her it is up on its bare legs, and rushing towards her.
'Oh, Miss Lambton, do let me say my prayers to you! it would be so pleasant!—No, Franky,' with a disposition to hustle her little brother, who is putting in a like claim; 'you are too little; you can say yours to Nanny!'
As she speaks she pulls Peggy by the gown into the room; and, placing her in a chair, kneels down at once—so that there may be no chance of her escaping—beside her, with hands devoutly folded, but a somewhat roving eye.
'Which shall I say?' asks she, with a wriggle of the back and an air of indifference: '"Our Father" or "Gentle Jesus"?'
'Say whichever you please,' replies Margaret gently; 'only attend and make up your mind which.'
'Oh, then,' with another wriggle, 'I will say "Gentle Jesus."'
After a pause:
'Do you think that there would be any harm in my praying for John Talbot?'
Margaret gives a little jump. It is, then, an hereditary passion! But she answers drily:
'Not the least.'