Three Margarets | Page 5

white
lace.
With an angry exclamation of "Bête!" Rita pushed her chair back out of
danger. Poor Peggy, after the first terrified "Ow!" as the hot chocolate
deluged her, sat still, apparently afraid of making matters worse if she
stirred. Margaret, after ringing the bell violently to call Elizabeth,
promptly checked the threatening rivulet on the table with her napkin,
and then, seizing Peggy's, proceeded to sop up the pool as well as she
could.

"I never!" gasped the unhappy girl. "Why, I didn't do a thing! it just
tipped right over!"
"It is too bad!" said Margaret, as sympathetically as she could, though
her cousin did look so funny, it was hard to keep from smiling. "Oh,
here is Elizabeth! Elizabeth, we have had an accident, and I fear Miss
Peggy's dress is quite ruined. Can you think of anything to take the
stains out?"
Elizabeth surveyed the scene with a practised eye.
"Hot soapsuds will be the best thing," she said. "If the young lady will
come up with me at once, and take the frock off, I will see what can be
done."
"Yes, do go with Elizabeth, dear!" urged Margaret. "Nothing can be
done till the dress is off."
And poor Peggy went off, hanging her head and looking very
miserable.
Rita, as soon as her dress was out of danger, was able to see the affair
in another light, and as her cousin left the room burst into a peal of
silvery laughter.
"Oh, hush!" cried Margaret. "She will hear you, Rita!"
"And if she does?" replied Rita, drawing her chair up to the table again,
and sipping her chocolate leisurely. "Acrobats expect to be laughed at,
and certainly this was a most astonishing tour de force. Seriously, my
dear," she added, seeing Margaret's troubled look, "how are we to take
our Western cousin, if we do not treat her as a comic monstrosity? Is it
possible that she is a Montfort? I shall call her Cousin Calibana, I
think!"
She nibbled daintily at a macaroon, and went on: "It is a thing to be
thankful for that the green frock is probably hopelessly ruined. I am
quite sure it would have affected my nerves seriously if I had been

obliged to see it every day. Do they perhaps cut dresses with a
mowing-machine in the West?" and she laughed again, a laugh so
rippling and musical that it was a pity it was not good-natured.
Margaret listened in troubled silence. What could she say that would
not at once alienate this foreign cousin, who seemed now inclined to
friendliness with her? And yet she could not let poor Peggy go
undefended. At last she said gently, yet with meaning, "Dear Rita, you
make me tremble for myself. If you are so very severe in your
judgments, who can hope to pass uncriticised?"
"You, ma cousine!" cried Rita. "But there is no question of you; you
are of one's own kind! You are altogether charming. Surely you must
see that this young person is simply impossible. Impossible!" she
repeated with decision. "There is no other word for it."
"No," said Margaret, bravely, "I do not see that, Rita! She is shy and
awkward, and I should think very young for her age. But she has an
honest, good face, and I like her. Besides," she added, unconsciously
repeating the argument she had used in defending Rita herself against
Peggy's animadversions, "it is absurd to judge a person on half an
hour's acquaintance."
"Oh, half an hour!" said Rita lightly; "half a lifetime! My judgments,
chère cousine, are made at the first glance, and remain fixed."
"And are they always right?" asked Margaret, half amused and half
vexed.
"They are right for me!" said Rita, nodding her pretty head. "That is
enough."
She pushed her chair back, and coming to Margaret's side, laid her hand
lightly on her shoulder.
"Chère cousine," she said, in a caressing tone, "you are so charming, I
do hope you are not good. It is detestable to be good! Avoid it, très
chère! believe me, it is impossible!"

"Are all the people in Havana bad?" asked Margaret, returning the
caress, and resisting the impulse to shake the pretty, foolish speaker.
"All!" replied Rita cheerfully; "enchanting, delightful people; all bad!
Oh, of course when one is old, that is another matter! Then one
begins--"
"Was your mother bad, Rita?" asked Margaret quietly.
"My mother was an angel, do you hear? a saint!" cried the girl. And
suddenly, without the slightest warning, she burst into a tropical
passion of tears, and sobbed and wept as if her heart would break.
Poor Margaret! Decidedly this was not a pleasant evening for her. By
the time she had soothed Rita, and tucked her up on the library sofa,