"Hate to have one's night's rest broken," he
concluded. Mrs. Chichester looked at him sadly.
"What is to be done?" she asked, despair in every note.
"We must get in forty winks during the day some time," he replied,
encouragingly.
"No, no, Alaric. I mean about Margaret?"
"Oh! The imp? Nothin' that I can see. She's got it into her stubborn
little head that she's had enough of us, and that's the end of it!"
"And the end of our income," summed up Mrs. Chichester,
pathetically.
"Well, you were a bit rough on her, mater. Now, I come to think of
it we've all been a bit rough on her--except ME. I've made her laugh
once or twice--poor little soul. After all, suppose she did want to
dance? What's the use of fussing? LET her, I say. LET her. Better
SHE should dance and STAY, than for US to starve if she GOES."
"Don't reproach me, dear. I did my duty. How could I consent to her
going? A girl of her age!"
"Girl! Why, they're grown women with families in America at her
age."
"Thank God they're not in England."
"They will be some day, mater. They're kickin' over the traces more
and more every day. Watch 'em in a year or two, I say, watch 'em.
One time women kept on the pavement. Now they're out in the middle
of the road--and in thousands! Mark me! What ho!"
"They are not women!" ejaculated Mrs.
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