"Really, for the moment I thought I was being punished," replied May. And she too laughed, a melodious trill.
A quarter of an hour passed. Lady Ogram presented herself at the library door, and saw May reading, whilst Constance Bride sat writing at the table.
"Come, both of you!"
Surprised at the look and tone with which they were summoned, the two followed into the drawing-room, where, guided by Lady Ogram's glance, they became aware of a new ornament. They approached; they gazed; they wondered.
"Who is that?" asked their conductress, turning to Miss Bride.
Constance felt no doubt as to the person whom the bust was supposed to represent, and her disgust at what she thought the shameless flattery practised by the sculptor hardly allowed her to reply.
"Of course," she said, in as even a voice as possible, "it is a portrait of Miss Tomalin."
Lady Ogram's eyes shone; on the point of laughing, she restrained herself, and looked at her niece.
"May, what do you think?"
"Really, aunt, I don't know what to think," answered the girl, in a happy confusion. "If Miss Bride is right—it's very, very kind of you. But how was it done without my sitting?"