First, they called very early in the afternoon, just when Betty, with her arms full of matting for her rabbits, rushed out at the front door. She nearly ran into them. The matting slipped from her arms, and she stood spell-bound, gazing at the Story Books. Mrs. Dudgeon was there, looking half a size larger than any ordinary person. An osprey waved luxuriantly in a mauve toque, and her black dress bristled with grandeur. She produced a lorgnette and looked through it severely at Betty. Betty became half the size of an ordinary mortal.
Adelaide Maud was with Mrs. Dudgeon.
Adelaide Maud was in blue.
Adelaide Maud seemed stiff and bored.
"Is your mamma at home?" Mrs. Dudgeon asked.
Betty kicked the matting out of the way in a surreptitious manner.
"Oh, please come in," she said shyly.
It was tragic that of all moments in one's life the Dudgeons should have come when Betty happened to be flying out, and they had not even had time to ring for Bertha, who, as parlour-maid, had really irreproachable showing in manners.
Betty tripped over a mat on her way to the drawing-room. Betty showed them in without a word of warning. Jean was singing at the piano--atrociously. Jean might know that she oughtn't to sing till her voice was developed. Elma was dusting photographs.
Nothing could have been more tragic.