"It is nothing great!"—said Faith stammering over her words—"Only you won't like it very well—but you will have to hear it. I thought another time—that's all."
"He'll never hear it from you—what I mean," said Miss Linden, "so he shall from me. We'll see whether he likes it. Know then, Endecott, that I found this child absorbed in wedding dresses!"
"Wedding dresses!" he repeated. "More than one?"
"Oh Endy," said his sister with a sort of laughing impatience, "what a boy you are! I mean other people's." Faith stood smiling a little, letting her manage it her own way.
"Imagine it," Miss Linden went on,—"imagine this one little real flower bending over a whole garden of muslin marigolds and silk sunflowers and velvet verbenas, growing unthriftily in a bed of white muslin!" Mr. Linden laughed, as if the picture were a pleasant one.
"Mignonette," he said,—"how could you bear the sight?"
"I was trying to make the best of it."
"In whose behalf were you so much interested?"
"Maria Davids," said Faith glancing up at him. "But I was not interested,—only so far as one is in making the best of anything."
"Who is trying to make the best of her?"