“You must pardon me, Madam, but I am quite sure both my nieces are here,” said my Uncle Charles’s welcome tones.
I rushed to the door again.
“This way, Uncle Charles!” I cried. “Hatty, where is your bonnet?”
“I don’t know. They took all my outdoor things away.”
“Tie my scarf over your head, and get into the chair. As my Uncle Charles is here, I can walk very well.”
He had come up now, and stood looking at Hatty’s white, miserable face. If he had seen it a few minutes earlier, he would have thought the misery far greater.
“Well, this is a pretty to-do!” cried my Uncle. “Hatty, child, these wretches have used you ill. Why on earth did you stay with them?”
“At first I did not want to get away, Uncle,” she said, “and afterwards I could not.”
We went down-stairs. Mrs Crossland was standing in the door of the drawing-room, with thin, shut-up lips, and a red, angry spot on either cheek. Inside the room I caught a glimpse of Annabella, looking woefully white and frightened. Mr Crossland I could nowhere see.
“Madam,” said my Uncle Charles, sarcastically, “I will thank you to give up those other young ladies, my nieces’ cousins. If they wish to remain in London, they can do so, but it will not be in Charles Street. Did you not tell me, Cary, that their father wished them to come home?”