speaking as cheerfully as she could at a moment's notice.
"Nothing indeed! A bleak back-ground of trees, some white linen hung out on the sweet-briar hedge, and a great waft of damp air. Shut the window, and come in and make tea."
Margaret was silent for some time. She played with her teaspoon, and did not attend particularly to what Mr. Bell said. He contradicted her, and she took the same sort of smiling notice of his opinion as if he had agreed with her. Then she sighed, and putting down her spoon, she began, apropos of nothing at all, and in the high-pitched voice which usually shows that the speaker has been thinking for some time on the subject that they wish to introduce—"Mr. Bell, you remember what we were saying about Frederick last night, don't you?"
"Last night. Where was I? Oh, I remember! Why it seems a week ago. Yes, to be sure, I recollect we talked about him, poor fellow."
"Yes—and do you not remember that Mr. Lennox spoke about his having been in England about the time of dear mamma's death?" asked Margaret, her voice now lower than usual.
"I recollect. I hadn't heard of it before."
"And I thought—I always thought that papa had told you about it."
"No! he never did. But what about it, Margaret?"
"I want to tell you of something I did that was very wrong, about that time," said Margaret, suddenly looking up at him with her clear honest eyes.
"I told a lie;" and her face became scarlet.
