"My! whatt ages you have been," she declared, as she surveyed Verona's toilette with glittering, malevolent eyes.
"I was helping Nicky with his sums, and I forgot the time. I am afraid I am a little late."
"I am afraid you will be very late," cried Mrs. Chandos, with a queer, hysterical laugh, and she suddenly swept a pail of water from behind her dress, and deluged her unfortunate daughter from head to foot. At first the shock was such that Verona could do nothing but gasp, and gasp; then, to the amazement of the spectators, she burst out laughing.
What an object she was! the water streaming down her hair and nose, and a pool in her lap, her gown a mere soaked rag. Verona's laugh was an inspiration! If for days she had been preparing an effective retort to her mother's malicious action, she could not have hit the mark more cleverly. Mrs. Chandos stood disarmed, astounded, humiliated.
"I am afraid I shall now be very late indeed," said Verona as she rose, dripping from head to foot, and looked at her parent with extraordinary composure, "so late that it will not be worth my while to go at all. If you will all kindly retire, I should like to change my wet clothes."
Without a single word Mrs. Chandos slunk out, bucket in hand, but Pussy lingered to profess her sympathy and dismay.
"Now, what can you say? Oh, you must send an excuse?" she enquired, with an awestruck face.
"You can say I have had a severe wetting," rejoined Verona. In her heart of hearts she was not sorry to be compelled to remain at home. These local gatherings had nothing to offer her but pain and humiliation.
"A severe wetting!" cried Pussy, "they will not believe it. There has been no rain for weeks!"
"I cannot help that," retorted her sister, "but if you want to make it appear plausible, you may add that I have gone to bed."