But, after all this, Margaret, it may be supposed, did not present herself quite so calmly as usual at the dinner-table. She had a little rose-tint, which was very seldom permanent, upon her pretty cheek, and her eyes glowed with unusual brightness. She was more resigned than usual to the ceremony of being handed to her seat, and did not think the two old men were making a fool of her, as she was apt to do; and she did not say anything, but awaited her father’s questioning with much suppressed excitement. Sir Ludovic for some time disappointed her by saying nothing on the subject--which, when you expect to be questioned, and, indeed, to be found fault with, and stand on the defensive, is the most trying of all treatment. However, after a time, Margaret’s pulses woke again to liveliest beating. “Did your artist stay long, my Peggy?” she heard Sir Ludovic saying, without any warning at all. “Oh! n-not very long, papa,” said Margaret, slightly faltering. Then--for she suddenly remembered that John, who knew everything that went on, did by no means hesitate to contradict her when he thought proper--she added, hastily, “But first he learned me to draw.” “That was very clever of him,” said Sir Ludovic; “and did you learn, as you say, to draw--all in one lesson, my little Peggy? That was very clever of you, too.” “Why should you always make a fool of me?” said Margaret, pathetically. “You know I did not mean that, papa. But we tried; and then I let him see the house, and the high room, and the tapestry. We could not go up to the tower, because it was raining. He is to come another day,” said Margaret, with the extreme of simple candor, “to see the view from the tower. And he thought the tapestry was very fine, papa.” “Did he, my little Peggy? Then I fear he cannot know very much about it,” said Sir Ludovic. “He is rather a clumsy imitation of a hero, very rustic and Fifish, your Mr. Glen.” “You call _me_ Fifish too,” said Margaret, with a little laugh which expressed a good deal of irritation. The finest and most significant satire was implied in Margaret’s tone. “If _me_, then anybody!” it seemed to say, with a mixture of wounded pride and sense of absurdity. Sir Ludovic forgot the moral he had meant to draw in his amusement. He laughed, with that tender laugh which is called from us by the dear follies of our children. “Did I call you Fifish too, my Peggy?--which shows I am a very ignorant, ridiculous old man. But he should not have begun that drawing of your old father while I--dozed. It is not often I doze,” said Sir Ludovic, with the same uneasy feeling which Margaret had felt, that old John behind his chair was quite capable of contradicting him; “and if he had been a gentleman, I don’t think he would have done it.” “Oh!” cried Margaret, clasping her hands, “it was all my fault-- I assure you it was all my fault, papa.”