Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl, L. T. Meade [drm ebook reader txt] 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
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“Oh, hush, my dear; hush! I only do my duty; I hope I shall never fail in that.”
Mrs. Hartrick rose from the tea-table, and Linda soon afterward followed her. Mr. Hartrick was seen coming down the avenue. He generally walked from the station. He came in now.
“What a hot day it is!” he said. “Pour me out a cup of tea, Linda. I am very thirsty.”
He flung himself into an easy chair, and Linda waited on him.
“Well,” he said, “where are the others? Where is the little Irish witch, and where is Molly?”
“I am sorry to say that Molly is in disgrace, as usual,” said Mrs. Hartrick.
“Oh, dear, dear!” said Mr. Hartrick; “we ought to send her to school, poor child! I am sorry for her.”
“And I intended to give her quite a pleasant evening,” said Mrs. Hartrick, “in honor of her cousin's arrival. She was in disgrace yesterday when Nora arrived; and I had thought of giving the girls a delightful evening. I had it all planned, and was going to ask the Challoners over; but really Molly is so incorrigible. She was very pert to me, although she did bring a better report from school; she used some of her objectionable language to Linda, and was more awkward even than usual.”
“Look at the tablecloth, father,” said Linda.
“I think, Linda, you had better run out of the room,” said Mr. Hartrick. He spoke in an annoyed voice.
“Certainly, father, I will go; but don't you want another cup of tea first?”
“Your mother shall pour it out for me. Go, my dear—go.”
“Only, mother, is it necessary that we should not ask the Challoners because Molly is naughty? The rest of us would like to have them.”
“I will let you know presently, Linda,” said her mother; and Linda was obliged, to her disgust, to leave the room.
“Now, then, my dear,” said Mr. Hartrick, “I don't at all like to call you over the coals; but I think it is a pity to speak against Molly so much as you do in her sister's presence. Linda is getting eaten up with conceit; she will be an intolerable woman by and by, so self-opinionated, and so pleased with herself. After all, poor Molly may have the best of it in the future; she is a fine child, notwithstanding her naughtiness.”
“I thought it likely you would take her part, George; and I am sorry,” answered Mrs. Hartrick in a melancholy tone; “but I am grieved to tell you that there is something else to follow. That little Irish girl is quite as cheeky, even more cheeky than Molly. I fear I must ask you to say a word to her; I shall require her to be respectful to me while she is here. She spoke very rudely to me just now, simply because I found it my duty to correct Molly.”
“Oh, that won't do at all,” said Mr. Hartrick. “I must speak to Nora.”
“I wish you would do so.”
“I will. By the way, Grace, what a pretty creature she is!”
“She is a beautiful little wildflower,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “I have taken a great fancy to her, notwithstanding her rudeness. She has never had the smallest care; she has simply been allowed to grow up wild.”
“Well, Nature has taken care of her,” said Mr. Hartrick.
“Yes, dear, of course; but you yourself know the advantage of bringing up a girl nicely.”
“And no one is more capable of doing that than you are,” said Mr. Hartrick, giving his wife an admiring glance.
“Thank you, dear, for the compliment; but I should be glad if you would speak to Nora. Now that she is here, I have no doubt that we shall soon discipline her; and I should like her to pay quite a long visit—that is, of course, if she becomes conformable to my ways.”
“She will be sure to do that, Grace,” replied the husband. “I am glad you mean to be good to her, and to take her in hand, poor little lass!”
“I thought she might have some good masters and get some valuable lessons while she is here,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “Would you believe it, George?—that little girl of sixteen calmly informed me that her education was finished. At the same time, she said she knew no language but her own, and just a smattering of that dead tongue, Irish. She cannot play; in short, she has no accomplishments whatever, and yet her education is finished. I must say I do not understand your sister. I should have thought that she was a little more like you.”
“There never was a more particular girl than Ellen used to be,” said Mr. Hartrick; “but I must have a long talk with Nora. I'll see her this evening. I know she has a good deal she wants to talk to me about.”
“A good deal she wants to talk to you about, George?”
“Oh, yes, my dear; but I will explain presently. She is a proud little witch, and must not be coerced; we must remember that her spirit has never been broken. But I'll talk to her, I'll talk to her; leave the matter in my hands, Grace.”
“Certainly, dear; she is your niece, remember.”
CHAPTER XVII. — TWO DESCRIPTIONS.
Some of Nora's words must have sunk into Mrs. Hartrick's heart, for, rather to Molly's own astonishment, she was allowed to dress nicely for dinner, and to come down. Her somewhat heavy, dark face did not look to the best advantage. She wore a dress which did not suit her; her hair was awkwardly arranged; there was a scowl on her brow. She felt so sore and cross, after what she considered her brave efforts to be good during the morning, that she would almost rather have stayed up in her room. But Nora would not hear of that. Nora had rushed into Molly's room, and had begged her, for her sake, to come downstairs. Nora was looking quite charming in that pretty white frock which Mrs. O'Shanaghgan had purchased for her in Dublin. Her softly rounded figure, her dazzlingly fair complexion, were seen now for the first time to the best advantage. Her thick black hair was coiled up becomingly on her graceful little head, and, with a bunch of sweet peas at her belt, there could scarcely have been seen a prettier maiden. When she appeared in the drawing room, even Terence was forced to admit that he had seldom seen a more lovely girl than his sister. He went up to her and began to take notice of her.
“I am sorry I was obliged to be out all day. I am studying the different museums very exhaustively,” said Terence in that measured tone of his which drove poor Nora nearly wild.
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