The good Susan looked so concerned, and her face was so anxious, that it went straight to Patty’s heart. To her mind there came a vivid and tantalising remembrance of her exquisite dinner frock, of white chiffon, embroidered with tiny sprays of blossoms—a soft sash and shoulder-knots—one of the loveliest dresses she had ever had, and with a sob she threw herself on to the couch and indulged in a few foolish but comforting tears.
“There, there, Miss,” said Susan, sympathisingly, “don’t ee take on so. Maybe we can find summat for ee.”
When Susan was excited or troubled, she lapsed into her old dialect, which she was striving to outgrow.
“You can’t find anything, I know,” said Patty, sitting up, and looking the picture of woe. “There are no very young ladies in the house, are there, Susan?”
“No, Miss, none so young as yourself, nor near it.”
“And I can’t wear this,” went on Patty, looking at the silk blouse that was part of her travelling gown.
“Lor’ no, Miss; not to a dinner!”
“Then what?”
“Then what, indeed, Miss!”
Patty and Susan faced each other, at last in a full realisation of the hopelessness of the situation, when, after a light tap at the door, Lady Hamilton came in.