Thence they came to books.

Norman had not read for months past, but it happened that Meta was just now reading Woodstock, with which he was of course familiar; and both grew eager in discussing that and several others.

Of one, Meta spoke in such terms of delight, that Norman thought it had been very stupid of him to let it lie on the table for the last fortnight without looking into it.
He was almost sorry to see his father and Mr.Rivers come in, and hear the carriage ordered, but they were not off yet, though the rain was now only Scotch mist.

Mr.Rivers had his most choice little pictures still to display, his beautiful early Italian masters, finished like illuminations, and over these there was much lingering and admiring.
Meta had whispered something to her governess, who smiled, and advanced to Norman.

"Meta wishes to know if your sister would like to have a few flowers ?" said she.
No sooner said than done; the door into the conservatory was opened, and Meta, cutting sprays of beautiful geranium, delicious heliotrope, fragrant calycanthus, deep blue tree violet, and exquisite hothouse ferns; perfect wonders to Norman, who, at each addition to the bouquet, exclaimed by turns, "Oh, thank you!" and, "How she will like it!" Her father reached a magnolia blossom from on high, and the quick warm grateful emotion trembled in Dr.May's features and voice, as he said, "It is very kind in you; you have given my poor girl a great treat.
Thank you with all my heart." Margaret Rivers cast down her eyes, half smiled, and shrank back, thinking she had never felt anything like the left-handed grasp, so full of warmth and thankfulness.