Part 42 (1/2)
”Of course I'm a loving daughter, but I----”
”For goodness sake don't have any more buts. Write or dictate, whichever you please.”
”I'll write if I must, but really--I don't suppose father will care to come.”
”Doesn't he care for you, then?”
”Care for me? What a thing to say. Of course he cares for me.”
”Then he'll come. Now, I give you five minutes. Write the letter, and I'll take it out and post it.”
Nora muttered and grumbled, but Antonia's perfectly motionless figure, as she sat in an easy chair facing her, was too much to be resisted. She took up a pen, dipped it in ink, and began to write.
”Do it lovingly,” said Antonia; ”put heart into it; show that you're a daughter.”
Mrs. Bernard Temple motioned Annie to come and sit near her.
”Really,” she said in a whisper, ”poor Antonia becomes more peculiar and trying each day. She simply bullies us all. Look at that poor dear little Nora, submitting to her caprice as gently as a lamb. I don't know why she wants Squire Lorrimer to come here. I am not acquainted with him, and it will be really painful for me to see him in his present afflicted condition. I am a very cheerful person by nature, and hate depressing circ.u.mstances.”
”I am sorry you are not sympathetic,” answered Annie.
Mrs. Bernard Temple raised her brows.
”Sympathetic,” she exclaimed; ”my dear, I'm the soul--the very soul of sympathy; but where's the use of wasting emotion? I can do nothing for Squire Lorrimer, and it will only pain poor Nora to see him. Really, really, Antonia is beyond anything afflicting. Now, my love, where are you going?”
The latter part of this speech was addressed to Miss Bernard Temple, who was leaving the room. ”Where are you going, Antonia, my love?” repeated her mother.
”Out, mother; to post this letter.”
”I beg of you to do nothing of the kind. I can send it by William, when next he goes for a message.”
William was a very diminutive, and much overworked, page-boy.
”Thanks,” said Antonia; ”but I prefer to go myself.”
She left the room, shutting the door rather noisily; and Mrs. Bernard Temple looked for sympathy to the two girls.
”Is not she trying?” she repeated. ”With my mind so preoccupied with thoughts of my approaching marriage, and of dear Sir John, and those sweet girls, Hester and Nan; it is really too much to be worried by Antonia's whims.”
”Oh, but she means everything splendidly,” said Annie. ”I admire her beyond anything. If you will let me, Mrs. Bernard Temple, I will go out with her.”
”Oh, certainly, my dear. I see you are under her spell, so I have nothing to say. Dear Nora and I will try to make ourselves happy together.”
Annie left the room, and met Antonia in the hall.
”Wait one moment, Antonia,” she said; ”I'll go with you.”
She ran upstairs, fetched her hat and gloves, and joined Antonia. The two girls went into the street.
”I'm determined that no pranks shall be played with this letter,” said Antonia; ”so I intend not to post it, but to take it to the Carlton myself.”
”Antonia, is that right?”