The day's work was unusually heavy, and the two girls had hardly time to exchange a word. Clara did just say, at luncheon time, "You won't forget to-night, Ada?"
"Oh no," answered Ada, wondering that Clara should think it likely.
When Dr. Arundel came home from his afternoon rounds, before the carriage went to the stables, Ada was to be conveyed to Eaton Square.
She came out into the hall at the sound of her father's latch-key, and he kissed her fondly.
"It seems like sending you into the world alone, my dear," he said, as he placed her in the carriage. "It is not like just going to see our own friends."
Ada was pretty well accustomed to the lighted streets, and was much more busy with her own thoughts than with outside things. She almost started when the carriage drew up at her friend's door.
Clara ran down to meet her, and led the way upstairs to her bedroom.
"You are nice and early," she said, "and I have not begun to dress yet."
As they entered the room Ada's eyes fell upon a fresh white dress spread out upon the bed. Her heart sank down, and she felt cold and miserable. Why had she not done as her mamma advised? She took off her cloak in silence; and when her friend turned round, she fancied there was a little surprise in her glance. Ada felt wretched; but though she tried to throw it off, could think of none of their usual topics of conversation.
Clara showed her the little "nick-nacks" of her room, and then told her who was coming; and Ada found that "a few friends" meant to Clara a very different affair from what it did to her.