“Afraid of me,” said Angela. “Why should you be that?”
“Only, somehow, you belong to a better set.”
“Please, don’t talk nonsense,” said Angela, with the first note of wounded dignity in her voice. “I have come here to make myself useful. Can I be useful?”
“It is so delightful to have you—”
“That’s not the point; can I be useful?”
Molly looked puzzled.
“We’ll have supper presently,” she said. “I’ll go and speak to Susan. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She turned away. Of course, Angela could not be useful—the mere thought was profanation. She had come there to be waited on, to be worshipped, to be looked at, to be adored, Angela St. Just, the most beautiful, the most aristocratic girl in the entire neighbourhood!
Ethel drew nearer to Angela.
“I have been at Court Prospect to-day,” said Angela.