She murmured something like assent, and he went away evidently disappointed in her. No sooner was he gone, than she felt ashamed of her own moodiness, realising that if she should show any slight to Patricia, it could only end in a breach between herself and Rob.
The others were invited also; and not long after four o'clock they arrived at Claughton. A goodly company was already assembled on the large lawn, under shadow of some ancient cedars. It was a scene, and Magda felt secretly grateful to Pen and her mother for not allowing her to go in less than her "best," though she had flung out indignantly at the interference after luncheon. In her then state of mind she had been disposed to think that "anything" would do. Why bother to be smart?
Patricia, a dainty nymph in white and green, stood upon the grass, dispensing smiles upon an admiring world. She was particularly gracious to Mr. Royston—Mrs. Royston had not been able to come—and she welcomed her future sisters-in-law with exactly the right degree of warmth, kissing each lightly on the cheek, and paying chief attention to Pen as the elder.
Pen and Mr. Royston stayed in the circle which surrounded Patricia; but Magda fell back to a retired position, half sheltered by bushes. She had no wish to remain prominently forward, under Rob's observation.
To her surprise, she saw Bee, apparently the centre of another little circle, farther off; and Mrs. Major, looking distinguished in a rich black silk, seated in the post of honour, and receiving pointed attentions from Mr. and Mrs. Framley.
It was all oddly the reverse of what she had pictured so often in earlier months, before the arrival of the Majors at Virginia Villa.
Her own inclination would have been to escape from the crowd altogether; but that at present was out of the question. A fear of annoying Rob restrained her.
But what to do with herself was the question. Plainly she was not needed by Patricia; and having done her duty, she would not go forward again. All the ladies were chatting together, and being waited on with cups of tea by the limited number of masculine guests. There was no one for whom Magda cared; and nobody who cared for her. So she told herself rather dismally, as she stood apart, watching the people, listening to the buzz of voices. Bee once had cared; and, but for her own folly, Bee would undoubtedly care still, since hers was no changeable nature. But things were altered. How could Magda expect that either Bee or her mother would forget the manner in which she had treated them?
She was saying this to herself, when a hand touched hers, and she awoke with a start, to find Bee's soft brown eyes looking into her own.
"Why did you not come to me, Magda? I could not get away sooner, but I've been trying. Don't stay here all alone. Would you not like some tea?"