But, like
every one else, she saw but little of him; and, in fact,
Graham in these days, a grim, melancholy, silent man, brooding
over his own thoughts, his own hopes, plans, disappointments
perhaps, was no very lively addition to a family party.
There was one small person, however, whom our Madelon at once
inspired with a quite unbounded admiration for her. A few
evenings after her arrival, some one knocked at her bedroom
door as she was dressing for dinner; she opened it, and there
stood Madge in the passage, her hands full of red and white
daisies.
"I have brought you some flowers, Cousin Madelon," said the
child shyly.
"They are beautiful," said Madelon, taking them from her;
"won't you come in? I will put some of them in my hair."
She sat down before the looking-glass, and began arranging
them in her hair, whilst Madge stood and watched her with
wide-open eyes.
"They are out of my own garden," she said presently.
"I might have guessed that, they are so pretty," said Madelon,
turning round and smiling at her; it was in the girl's nature
to make these little gracious speeches, which came to her more
readily than ordinary words of thanks.
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