"'Where is Miss Lucy, Thompson?' our hostess asked, sharply.
"'I will inquire, ma'am,' Thompson replied, with the utmost softness, and vanished.
"The scratching began again, the Irishman went on gently chatting, and it all felt very like a horrid dream. Then Thompson reappeared.
"'Miss Lucy is out, ma'am.'
"'Did she know what time these young ladies were to arrive?'
"'Miss Lucy knew that the carriage had gone to meet them, ma'am.'
"'Very thoughtless! Very thoughtless indeed!' said the lady. Thompson paused respectfully, as if to receive the full weight of the remark, and then vanished noiselessly as before.
"There was an awkward pause. Our hostess left off scratching, and looked very cross; the Irishman fired one of his pellets across the room, and left off chatting, and the red-haired young lady got up, and rustled across to us. I remember her so well, Ida, for we fell deeply in love with her and her kindness. I remember her green and white dress. She had a fair round face, more pleasant than really pretty, a white starlike forehead, almost too firm a mouth, but a very gentle voice, at least, so we thought, when she said:
"'As Lucy is out, may I take these young ladies to their room?'
"Our hostess hesitated, and murmured something about Bedford, who was the lady's maid. The starlike forehead contracted, and the red-haired young lady said, rather emphatically: