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"Me, too?" said Marg'ret Hammond, catching a rapturous breath. "You, too," answered Mrs. Costello in her most matter-of-fact tone. "You see, you three will be the very centre of the group, and it'll look very nice, your all being dressed the same why, Marg'ret, dear!" she broke off suddenly. For Marg'ret, standing beside her chair, had dropped her head on Mrs. Costello's shoulder and was crying.
Me and Marg'ret were both going to do it, weren't we, Marg'ret? We didn't think it would be bad to wear our own brothers' surplices, did we, Marg'ret? I was going to ask my mother if we couldn't.
Costello imagined and feared, and they were living with some vague "lady across the hall." So the Mayor's wife had free rein, and she used it. When Marg'ret got one of her shapeless, leaky shoes cut in the Costello barn, she was promptly presented with shining new ones, "the way I couldn't let you get a cold and die on your father, Marg'ret, dear!" said Mrs. Costello.
But I'd like to lay that Marg'ret Llewellen across my knee, for her capers." "And I didn't think she cared for dolls," murmured Nan. But it was young Bob who betrayed the mysterious reason for his sister's act. "Huh!" he said, with a boy's disgust for such things. "Mag's crazy about pretty faces, if they're smooth, an' pink.
"Good morning," said Mrs. Kent. "You are Eliza Thick?" "Yes, ma'am." "You brought a note from Ethel?" "Yes, ma'am;" and fumbling in an opulent bosom, Eliza drew forth a crumpled scrap of paper. "I had a telegram from my niece in Oxford recommending you. How did she know of you?" "I worked at Lady Marg'ret 'All, ma'am, where the young lady is studyin'." "Why did you leave your place there?"
Costello, en passant. "Sister, if you don't want me in any of the dances, I'll take meself out of your way! No, indeed, the Mayor won't be annoyed by anything, girls, so go ahead with your duets, for he's taken the boys off to the Orpheum an hour ago, the way they couldn't be at their tricks upsettin' everything!" And presently she laid her hand on Marg'ret Hammond's shoulder.
"She said I was a thief!" said Marg'ret, chokingly, as Beatrice did not answer. There was a general horrified gasp, the nun's own voice when she spoke again was angry and quick. "Beatrice, did you say that to Marg'ret?" "I said I said " Beatrice was frightened, but aggrieved too.
She guessed, with a quickening pulse, what Beatrice had said. "What is the trouble, girls?" said Sister Rose's clear voice severely. Marg'ret, crimson-cheeked, breathing hard, faced the room defiantly. She was a gallant and pathetic little figure in her blue draperies. The other child was plainly frightened at the result of the quarrel. "Beatrice ?" said the nun, unyieldingly.
"I said I thought it was wrong to wear a surplice, that was made to wear on the altar, as an exhibition dress, and Marg'ret said, 'Why? and I said because I thought it was something I wouldn't say, and Marg'ret said, did I mean stealing, and I said, well, yes, I did, and then Marg'ret said right out, 'Well, if you think I'm a thief, why don't you say so?" Nobody stirred.
"Marg'ret," she said, "were you going to wear Joe's surplice?" Marg'ret did not answer. "I'm sure, Sister, I didn't mean " stammered Beatrice. Her voice died out uncomfortably. "Why were you going to do that, Marg'ret?" pursued the nun, quite at a loss. Again Marg'ret did not answer.
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