‘Well, we’re alive,’ cries Betty. ‘Rather the worse for wear, but still in the land of the living. And, really, it went off miraculously well—for us. Not even a fly in the cream. You saw us, I know. How did we look?’
‘Oh, it was all so pretty—so pretty!’ says Ella, a little sadly, perhaps, but with enthusiasm that leaves nothing to be desired. ‘Yes, of course I saw you. I climbed up the tree. But’—nervously, looking at Susan—‘I’m afraid they saw me.’
‘Certainly they saw you,’ says Carew, a little hotly. ‘Why shouldn’t they?’
‘Oh no! I didn’t want that. I am sorry,’ says Ella, with evident distress. ‘I thought I was quite safe there—that no one could see me. But—Susan—did Mr. Wyndham see me?’
‘Yes,’ says Susan gently. Ella’s distress at once growing deeper, she goes on hurriedly: ‘But, as Carew says, why not? It is your own place—your own tree—and I have always said you ought to come out and mix with us.’
‘No, no!’—hurriedly. All at once it seems to her that she must tell Susan the whole truth; how it is with her, and her horror of being discovered by that man, and the past sadness of her life, and the present loneliness of it. But not now; another time, when they are quite alone.
‘The poet saw you, at all events,’ says Dom. ‘He’s not quite right in his head, poor old chap! and he got very mixed. He thought you were a Hindoo idol——’
‘Dominick!’ Betty turns upon him indignantly. ‘How disgracefully ignorant you are! After all papa’s teaching! Hamadryads aren’t Hindoo idols. They are lovely things. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’
‘I am—I am,’ says Mr. Fitzgerald, with resignation. ‘I really don’t think I shall pass any exam.’
‘You don’t try,’ says Susan, with a slight touch of anger. ‘You don’t put your mind into your work. And it is such a shame towards father. Why don’t you try?’