“And so hard on you, poor child, missing your examinations and all.”
“Perhaps Dr. Young will let me go,” said Lydia wistfully: “It’s only four days, and not till next week.”
Mrs. Jackson shook her head doubtfully.
“The Town Hall is well warmed, with those pipes and all, but I don’t know. Perhaps if you could go in a closed cab, well wrapped up.... But you’ve missed such a lot of study, haven’t you?”
“I know,” said Lydia dejectedly.
They were all very kind to her, and seemed to realize the great disappointment of failing after all, or even of putting off the examination for another year, when one would be nearly sixteen, and no longer the youngest candidate of all.
Mrs. Jackson refused tea, and hurried away with her paper pattern, Shamrock flying to the head of the stairs after her, and breaking into a storm of howls, as though in protest at her departure. Aunt Beryl hastened distressfully after him.
“Hark at that!” said she unnecessarily.
Grandpapa put on his deafest expression.
“This is very trying for you, Lydia,” said Uncle George pointedly. “It seems to go through and through one’s head.”