“O do send it up, they’ll never know it,” cried Janet; but there Caroline interfered—
“Hush, Janet, we ought to be at home. Don’t stand here, Armine is tired to death! 11.5 at the station to-morrow. Good-night.”
They parted, and Mary and her brother turned away to their own home. If it had not been for the presence of the curate, Mary would have said a good deal on the way home. As it was, she was so silent as to inspire her brother with enough compunction for having deserted her, to make him follow her, when she went to her own room. “Mary, I am sorry we missed you,” he said; “I ought to have looked about for you more, but I thought—”
“Nonsense, David; of course I do not mind that, if only I could have stopped all that singing.”
“That singing; why it was very pretty, wasn’t it?”
“Pretty indeed! Did it never occur to you what a scrape you may be getting that poor little thing into with her relations, and yourself, too?”
David looked more than half-amused, and she proceeded more resolutely—
“Well! what do you think must be Mrs. Brownlow’s opinion of what she saw and heard to-night? I blame myself exceedingly for not having urged the setting off sooner; but you must remember that what is all very well for holiday people, only here for a time, may do infinite mischief to residents.”
David only observed, “I didn’t want all those men, if that’s what you mean. They made the noise, not I.”
“No, nor I; but we swelled the party, and I am much disposed to believe that the best thing we can do is to take ourselves off, or do anything to break up this set.”