Her grandmother had enjoined it upon her to finish just so many of these trying daisies before her return and yet, on the other hand, here was Margaret, her adorable Margaret, forbidding her to work, and, moreover, Margaret in such an irritable mood, with that smooth brow of hers frowning, and that sweet voice, which usually had a lazy trickle like honey, fairly rasping, was as awe-inspiring as her grandmother.

Annie Eustace hesitated for a second.

Her grandmother had commanded.

Margaret Edes had commanded.

The strongest impulse of her whole being was obedience, but she loved Margaret, and she did not love her grandmother.