“Not a bad idea. You are always up to some cunning dodge. What's the time?” “Twenty minutes to nine. I'll slip down the passage and tell Grace to go down and give him his breakfast. He won't say anything to her; he knows well that since Fatty went to India she wouldn't see a soul if she could help it.” “Father never says anything to you either; you tell him a lot of lies, and leave him to understand that I do everything.” “That's not true; I never speak against you to father; but at the same time I must say that if it weren't for you we could do as we liked. You don't try to manage father.” “Manage him, indeed! that's what I can't bear in you, you're always trying to manage some one; I hate the word.” “You got out of bed the wrong side this morning. However, I must go and tell Grace to go down at once, or father will be ringing for us.” “What did she say?” said Sally, when Maggie returned. “'Tis all right; I got her to go, and she said she was always being made a cat's-paw of. I assure you it wasn't easy to persuade her to go down to father, but I told her she might be the means of averting a very serious row.” “I suppose you said there was no counting on what answers I might make to father?” This was exactly what Maggie had said. “Very well; you are always objecting to what I do, and the way I do it. I wish you would go and do things yourself. You think of nothing but yourself, or some young man you are after. I wouldn't do what you did yesterday. I wouldn't go sneaking round the garden with a young man I had never seen before.” Maggie shrugged her shoulders and went on dressing. Sally, who had taken a seat on the bed, watched her. She thought how she might best pursue the quarrel, but her stomach called her thoughts from her sister, and she said: “I don't know how you feel, but I am dying of hunger. What time is it now?” “Nine o'clock.” “Another half-hour. I suppose he won't start before the half-hour.” “Miss,” said the maid, knocking at the door, “Mr. Brookes wants to know if you are coming down to breakfast.” “Say that we are not nearly ready; that there's no use waiting for us.” “I think I had better go back to my room,” said Sally. “I think you had. I wish you wouldn't bring that horrid little dog into my room. She made a mess here the other day.” “That I am sure she didn't. Flossie is the cleanest dog in the world.” “Clean or unclean, I would rather not have her in my room. There she is trying to drink out of my jug. Get away, you little beast!” Sally caught up her dog, and marched out of the room, slamming the door after her. “At last I have got rid of her,” thought Maggie, and she rolled and pinned up the last plait of her black hair, but she did not go down to breakfast until the wheels grated on the gravel and the carriage was heard moving away. Then she begged Grace to tell her what her father had said.