The room was humming with repressed excitement; last touches of rouge were being added; Lady Catherine de Burgh was walking solemnly up and down before a mirror practising the art of making her plumes "nod majestically," Sally May was saying feverishly over and over again, "My dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"—"If I can just keep talking I won't be nervous," she confided to Jane—"My dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park—"; Althea (Bingley) was practising bows with Josephine in a secluded corner of the adjoining room, and Catherine was having the finishing touches put to her pretty curls. Everything seemed as it should be—no, Mr. Bennet (Molly Seaton) was protesting almost tearfully to Miss Marlowe, "It was never given to me: Patricia said it was late and she'd look after it." Judith's face flamed—Molly's wig! She had entirely forgotten it!
"Where is Patricia?" said Miss Marlowe in a voice whose quality made the room suddenly become perfectly quiet. Judith tried to speak, but her lips and throat had suddenly become quite dry. How could she tell Miss Marlowe it was her fault!
Sally May was speaking—something about a telegram and Patricia—Judith didn't hear her—a furious argument was raging within her—with lightning-like speed Top Self and Deep-Down Self strove for mastery. "How can you tell Miss Marlowe it's your fault—after the way you've been trusted and looked up to?—It was Josephine's job, anyway—you did yours"—"But of course you can't let Patricia be blamed"—"Miss Marlowe will never forgive you"—"You can't let Patricia be blamed for it—you were to remind—"
The silence had penetrated to the far corner and as Judith opened her lips to speak, Josephine's horrified tones were heard.
"It's my fault, Miss Marlowe, Patricia asked me to look after it."
"You, Josephine?" Miss Marlowe's tones were icy. "Well, you have been consistently careless all year: I wonder that you were given any responsibility."
Judith could not bear that.
"Miss Marlowe," she began in a voice which sounded curiously thin and weak.
But the words were drowned in Sally May's shout:
"Why, here's the box—it's been under this cloak all the time."