"Oh, it is not such a very great journey," Juliet said.
She was not interested in what Mrs. Staines was saying. She felt no curiosity respecting the girls from London. She was absorbed in contemplating a stock of plants which had been sent in that morning for her stall, and considering how she could display them to the best advantage. After a brief deliberation, she set to work with eager energy, massing together gorgeous geraniums, snowy lilies, purple petunias, heliotrope, carnations, roses, of hues varying from deepest crimson to palest cream, with fuchsias, sweet-williams, mignonette, and the humbler products of cottage gardens. Her stall was soon aglow with colour, and when she had finished, it presented the appearance of one huge bouquet.
Wholly occupied by her task, Juliet had not observed what was going on at the other stalls. She had walked backward some paces from her stall, and was critically observing its general effect, when suddenly she turned, drawn by the subtle attraction of another's gaze, and found herself meeting the glance of Frances Hayes, who was standing beside Mrs. Belsham's stall at the distance of a few yards.
Juliet was greatly startled at seeing so unexpectedly her former schoolfellow. Her first impulse was to advance and greet her as an old friend. She made a step forward with this intent; but instantly Miss Hayes' glance became stony and contemptuous, ere she deliberately turned on her heel and presented her back to Juliet's gaze. Juliet saw her say something to a girl beside her. This girl turned and looked curiously at Juliet, and Juliet recognised her as a younger daughter of the Hayes family.
Juliet turned hot, and then cold. She went quickly behind her stall, and busied herself in setting in order the less presentable plants, which had been thrust out of sight there. Her hands were steady, her movements deliberate. She was trying to persuade herself that it did not matter, that she did not mind; striving to nerve herself to face the inevitable with indifference; but already she foresaw that the day's engagement was to yield her not pleasure, but pain.
Frances Hayes had lost no time in gaining the ear of her hostess.
"Mrs. Belsham," she said, drawing her aside, "it is that same girl."
"What same girl, my dear?" asked Mrs. Belsham, preoccupied with many small cares.
"That Miss Tracy. Do you not remember that you were speaking of her last night, and I told you of the girl of that name who used to live in our neighbourhood and behaved so disgracefully? Well, this is the very girl!"
"What, the girl who ran away with the music hall singer who afterwards committed forgery, and your mother saw them together at Dover? Oh, you cannot mean that our Miss Tracy is that girl?"