The next morning at breakfast Laura seemed a little more amiable, and began discussing plans for the summer excursions. Spring had set in, and many were changing town homes for country ones.
"I vote for Dingleford," said Phillips, with a sudden burst of valor.
"You!" said his wife, with a look of scorn—"you!"
Mr. Phillips retired into himself, like Mr. Jenks of Pickwickian memory, that being the only retirement he was allowed; and Laura went on without further notice.
"We will to Brooksford. The girls can come; for I will pay Clara's expenses, and papa can easily do the rest. I heard the Martins, the Hildreths, and the Fentons say they were going."
"Thank you for my share," said Margaret. "I stay at home; your fashionable friends are my aversion."
"You are so foolish, Maggie! You will never marry in the world."
"Tant mieux, I have no ambition to become madame. My tastes are very simple, indeed. 'Liberty for me!' is my motto."
And it was arranged that Fanny and Clara should accompany Laura to Brooksford to meet their friends, leaving Margaret and her father at home to brave dust, heat, and musketoes as they could.
The old gentleman went to his counting-room to sit and think; Maggie applied herself to some household occupation; Laura retired to her chamber to fret like a peevish child; and Fanny and Clara prepared themselves to go down to the front parlor to receive morning calls.