stood silent, her hand still in Mr. Richmond's.
"What's the matter?"
"Perhaps I shall not want to do it," she said, looking up frankly.
"I ask you to do it all the same."
Matilda did not move, and now her face showed great perplexity.
"Well?" said Mr. Richmond, smiling at last.
"Perhaps I cannot do it, Mr. Richmond?"
"Then, if you think you cannot do it, will you come and tell me?"
Matilda hesitated and pondered and hesitated.
"Do you wish it very much, Mr. Richmond?" she said, looking up appealingly into his face.
"I do wish it very much."
"Then I will!" said Matilda, with a sigh.
He nodded, shook her hand, and turned away with quick steps. Matilda went in and climbed the stairs to the room she and Maria shared together.
"What were you talking to Mr. Richmond so long about?" said Maria.
"I wasn't talking to Mr. Richmond. He was talking to me."
"What's the difference? But I wish he would talk to Ailie Swan; she wants it, I know. That girl is too much!"
"What has she done?"
"Oh, you don't know; she isn't in your set. I know. She's just disagreeable. I think people ought to be civil, if they are ever so good."
"I thought good people were civil always."
"Shows you don't know much."
"Isn't Ailie Swan civil?"
"I do not call it civility. What do you think, Tilly? I asked her if my South America wasn't good? and she said she thought it was not. Isn't that civility?"
"What did you ask her for?"
"Because! I knew my South America was good."
"Let me see it."
"Nonsense! You do not know the first thing about it." But she gave her little sister the sheet on which the map was drawn. Matilda took it to a table under the window, where the dying light from the western sky fell brightest; and putting both elbows on the table and her head in her hands, studied the map.
"Where is the atlas?"
"What do you want of the atlas?"
"I want to see if it is like."
"It is like, of course, child."
"I can't tell without seeing," Matilda persisted. And Maria grumblingly brought the atlas, open at the map in question. Matilda took it and studied anew.
"It is getting dark," said she at length. "But your South America is crooked, Maria."
"It isn't!" said Maria, vehemently. "How should it be crooked, when we angle it on, just according to the rules?"
"Angle it on?" repeated Matilda, looking at her sister.
"Yes. Oh, you don't understand, child; how should you? I told you you didn't know anything about it. Of course, we have rules and things to go by; and my South America was put on just right."
"It is not straight, though," said Matilda.
"Why, no, it isn't straight; it is not meant to be straight; it is all crookly crawly, going in and out, all round."
"But it don't stand straight," said Matilda; "and it looks thin, too, Maria; it don't puff out as much as the real South America does."
"Puff out!" Maria repeated. "It's as good as Ailie's, anyhow; and a great deal better than Frances Barth's. Frances got a great blot on hers; she's so careless. George Van Dyke is making a nice one; and Ben Barth is doing a splendid map; but then Ben does everything – "
Here there was a great call to tea from below, and the girls went down. Down-stairs there was excitement. A letter had come from Mrs. Candy, Mrs. Englefield's sister, saying that she herself with her daughter Clarissa would be with them the beginning of the week.
"To stay, mamma? O mamma, is Aunt Candy coming to stay? Do tell me. Is she coming to stay?" Maria exclaimed and questioned.
"She will stay a night with us, Maria. Don't be so eager."
"Only a night, mamma? Won't she be here longer?"
"She is coming to stay till summer, Maria," said her eldest sister. "Do be reasonable."
"I think it is reasonable to want to know," said Maria. "You knew; so you didn't care about it."
"I care a great deal; what do you mean?" said Anne.
"I mean you didn't care about knowing. O mamma, can't I have my dress finished before they come?"
"What dress, Maria?" her sister went on; for Mrs. Englefield was busy with the letter.
"My new merino. It is almost done; it only wants finishing."
"There's all the braid to put on, isn't there?"
"Well, that isn't much. Mamma, cannot I have my red merino finished before they come? I have got nothing to wear."
"What can you mean, Maria? You have everything you want. That is only for your best dress."
"But, mamma, it is just when I should want it, when they come; you'll be having everybody to tea. Won't you have it done for me? please, mamma?"
"I think you can do it for yourself, Maria. I have no objection to your finishing it."
"I cannot put on that braid – in that quirlicue pattern, mamma; I never did such work as that; and I haven't time, besides."
"Nor inclination," said Letitia, laughing. "Come, Maria, it is time you learned to do something for yourself. Matilda, now, might plead inexperience, and have some reason; but you are quite old enough."
The dispute would have gone on, but Mrs. Englefield desired silence, and the family drew round the tea-table. Other plans for the following weeks filled every tongue. Mrs. Candy was well off; a widow with one child, her daughter Clarissa; she had been in Europe for several years; coming back now to her own country, she was bending her steps first of all to her sister's house and family.
"We shall have the new fashions, straight from Paris," Anne remarked.
"Has Aunt Candy been in Paris? I thought she was in Scotland, mamma?"
"People may go to Paris, if they have been in Scotland, Maria. It is not so far as around the world."
"But has she been in Paris?"
"Lately."
"Mamma, what is Aunt Candy going to do with herself when summer comes? She says, 'till summer.'"
"When she tells us, I shall know, Letty. At present I am as ignorant
