“No one is angry at all.”

“No one?”

“Except Maurice, and surely he has some right on his side.  You know your conduct was a little—­just a little—­er——­”

“Rude,” says Tita, helping her out.  “Well, I know that, and I am sorry to my heart’s core, Margaret, if I was rude—­to you!"

The climax is very sweet.  Margaret tells herself that Tita is too much for her.  The girl by this time has her arms round her neck.

“Don’t mind me,” says Margaret, holding the little form closely to her.  “Think of yourself, my dearest.  As if I should misunderstand you!  But you should study conventionality a little; you should——­”

She breaks off; it almost seems to her that she is preaching deception to this baby.

“Now, I’ll tell you,” says Tita, leaning back a little from her, and pointing each word by a tap on her shoulder, “I’m not so bad as I seem! I really meant to be in, in time for breakfast—­but Tom——­”

“Tom,” impatiently, “is a bad adviser!”

“It wasn’t his fault, any way.  The fact is, I took it into my head to run a race with him.  He is always lauding that old horse of his, you know——­”

“I don’t know.  All I do know is, that Mr. Hescott must have had a watch about him.”

“Well,” triumphantly, “he hadn’t.  So you don’t know anything after all, you darling old Madge!  He had forgotten it.  He had left it at home!  That was just what put us out!  Not that I care.  Well, I was going to tell you about our race.  We started for Clumber’s Hill—­to get there and back again, and all went well until my mare ran away with me!”

“Ran away——­”

“Don’t look like that.  I love a horse to run away with me; and there were no sandpits or precipices of any sort; it was a real good run away.  Oh!” throwing out her arms, “how I enjoyed it!” She pauses.  “But I don’t think Tom did.  He was like an egg when he came up with me. So white!”

“Never mind Mr. Hescott, go on.”

“Well, that’s all.  By the time I had the mare well in hand again, we were a good many miles farther from here than we meant to be, and, of course, I was late.”  She puts Margaret away from her a little, and looks at her.  “After all,” says she, “why should Maurice be so angry about it?  Everyone makes mistakes now and then.  I suppose,” lightly, “even the immaculate Maurice can make his?”

“No doubt,” says Margaret, in a low tone.

Is he not making a mistake now—­a dreadful one?

“And, for the matter of that, so can you," says Tita audaciously, but so lovingly that no one could be angry with her.

“Don’t waste time over me,” says Margaret, growing very red, but laughing.  “Come back to your naughty little self.  Now what are you going to do about this, Tita?”

“Do?”

“Yes.  Couldn’t you go down and say something pretty to Maurice?”