“But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia,” said Evelyn. “I heard Jasper speak of it. Lots of people—grandees, you know.”
Sylvia shuddered slightly.
“We never say that sort of word now in England,” she remarked; and she added: “I am well-born too. There was a time when I should not have been at all shy of Audrey Wynford.”
“You are very queer,” said Evelyn. “I do not know that I particularly want you for a friend.”
“Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love me,” said Sylvia. “But now the question is this: Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will you, Audrey—will you—just because my name is Sylvia and we have met in the Forest of Arden?”
“Oh dear,” said Audrey, “what a difficult question you ask! And how can I answer it? I dare not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and inquire.”
Audrey ran immediately out of the room.
“What a wonderful change has come into my life!” she said to herself as she flew down-stairs and looked into different rooms, but all in vain, for Miss Sinclair.
Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of appealing to her. Without the permission of some one older than herself she could not possibly ask Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in the crowd of children who would be at the Castle that evening, but her mother’s eyes would quickly seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries would be made, and—in short, Audrey did not dare to take this responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs again, prepared to tell Sylvia that she could not grant her request, when she came plump up against her father.
“My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!” he exclaimed.