Her mother also put ideas into her head.
From the drawing-room window they once saw Emmy and Septimus part at the little front gate.

They had evidently returned from a walk.

She plucked a great white chrysanthemum bloom from a bunch she was carrying, flicked it laughingly in his face, and stuck it in his buttonhole.
"What a good thing it would be for Emmy," said Mrs.Oldrieve, with a sigh.
"To marry Septimus?
Oh, mother!" She laughed merrily; then all at once she became serious.
"Why not ?" she cried, and kissed her mother.
Mrs.Oldrieve settled her cap.

She was small and Zora was large, and Zora's embraces were often disarranging.
"He is a gentleman and can afford to keep a wife." "And steady ?" said Zora, with a smile.
"I should think quite steady," said Mrs.Oldrieve, without one.
"And he would amuse Emmy all day long." "I don't think it is part of a husband's duty, dear, to amuse his wife," said Mrs.Oldrieve.
The sudden entrance of Emmy, full of fresh air, laughter, and chrysanthemums, put an end to the conversation; but thenceforward Zora thought seriously of romantic possibilities.

Like her mother, she did not entirely approve of Emmy's London circle.