Meanwhile Nesta was in a state of wild excitement. No sooner had Marcia and Angela gone down the street than she darted into the drawing room.
“Well,” she said, “is it all right? Did you really see her? Was she properly introduced to you? Can you say in future that you know her? When you meet her, will you be able to bow to her? Have you contrived to get her promise to come and see you? Tell me everything, everything.”
“What affair is it of yours, child?” said Clara crossly. For although she had met Miss St. Just, it seemed to her that she had made but small way with that young lady.
“It means everything to me—everything possible. Do you know her?”
“Of course, I know her! Is it likely that your sister would be so rude, so fearfully rude as not to introduce me when I was in the room?”
“I don’t know,” replied Nesta. “Marcia can be rude enough when she likes.”
“Well, anyhow, she wasn’t. She did introduce us, and Miss St. Just was most pleasant. She has far nicer manners than your sister.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult,” said Nesta. “Marcia is so very stand-offish.”
“Ridiculously proud and prudish, I call her,” said Clay.
“And do you think Miss St. Just as lovely as you always did?”