"There is small danger that Rotha will ever be troubled with that sort of impertinence," said Mrs. Busby, with that peculiar air of her head, which always meant that she thought a good deal more than she spoke out at the minute.
"Maybe," returned her husband; "but she is going to deserve it, I can tell you. She'll be handsomer than ever Antoinette will."
Which remark seemed to Rotha peculiarly unlucky for her just that day.
Mrs. Busby reddened with displeasure though she held her tongue.
Antoinette was not capable of such forbearance.
"Papa!" she said, breaking out into tears, "that is very unkind of you!"
"Well, don't snivel," said her father. "You are pretty enough, if you keep a smooth face; but don't you suppose there are other people in the world handsomer? Be sensible."
"It is difficult not to be hurt, Mr. Busby," said his wife, pressing her lips together.
"Mamma!" cried Antoinette in a very injured tone, "he called me 'pretty'?"
"Aint you?" said her father, becoming a little provoked. "I thought you knew you were. But Rotha is going to be a beauty. It is no injury to you, my child."
"You seem to forget it may be an injury to Rotha, Mr. Busby."
Whether Mr. Busby forgot it, or whether he did not care, he made no reply to this suggestion.