"I don't care to go, and really I am too busy. As Dolly says, she needs no chaperon there."
"Not generally, of course. I should have thought—just to-day—"
But Isabel was gone. Margot lay considering the matter, and the result of her cogitations was, that she presently rose, and went upstairs. Soon after three o'clock, a little white figure, with golden hair and bright cheeks, came into the breakfast-room, to find Margot no longer on the sofa, but dressed in pale grey silk, with hat to match.
"Margot!—you don't mean to say you are going too! Margot, you do look lovely! But I thought—your back—"
"Yes, it is aching rather; still, I think I can manage this. Don't protest before mother. The pony-carriage will take us there, and if I like to leave before you, I can. I don't want you to go alone."
The tone was not particularly expressive, but Dolly's cheeks made a quick response.
"It's much nicer having you too," the younger girl said demurely.
"Yes,—I thought silver-grey would be suitable for your chaperon."
"Chaperon! Nonsense! A girl of twenty-seven!"
"Ten years out,—and you barely 'out' yet. I'm very nearly on the shelf, Dolly."