“You could not sleep much yourself in my room, darling. It is a little hot and a little—dinnery. Not that I complain; but there is a magnificent hall downstairs, and such a terrace! And, do you know, I received a wee present of money a couple of mornings ago from darling Uncle Maurice, so I treated myself to some tea. I was thirsty. I had it all alone on a little table on the terrace. I can tell you I felt distinguished.”
“You poor dear!” said Mabel. “Why, of course you ought to have had tea when we had it. I will say this for you, Annie, that you are the queerest mixture I ever came across. You have—oh, you know the side to which I allude; but then, on the other hand, you are the most absolutely unselfish creature that ever lived. Why, even Parker has been enjoying delicious tea, and we never thought of you at all.”
“Poor little me!” said Annie. “Well, it doesn’t matter, for, you see, I thought of myself. Now I will leave you. Be sure you make an effective toilet to-night. There are really some very nice-looking people downstairs; we shall have a jolly time at this hotel. What a good thing it is we got rid of Priscie! She made us look so odd and peculiar.”
“I suppose the poor thing is bored to death at Hendon by this time,” said Mabel.
“Oh no, she is not quite there yet; she will have plenty of time to think of her conscience while she is at Hendon. And now you and I will forget her.”
Annie spent the next hour or two on the terrace—where she pretended to read—and looked at the different visitors as they came in and out of the hotel. She went up in good time to her bedroom, and Parker, who was always exceedingly particular with regard to the dress of both the young ladies, arrayed her on this occasion in a dress of the softest, palest, most becoming blue crêpe-de-Chine. This demi-toilet, with its elbow-sleeves and lace falling away from the young, round throat, was absolutely the most becoming garment Annie could possibly wear. It seemed to add to the blue of her blue eyes and to bring out the golden shades of her lovely hair.
She felt as she entered the great salle-à-manger that she was looked at very nearly as much as Lady Lushington and Mabel. They had a pleasant little dinner in one of the great bay windows, which commanded a glorious view of the Alps; and during dinner Lady Lushington was her most charming self, and continued to be exceedingly friendly to Annie.
It was not until the meal had nearly come to an end that a remark was made which caused both girls to feel slightly uncomfortable. Lady Lushington turned to Mabel.
“My dear Mabel,” she said, “I am really rather annoyed.”
“What about, auntie?”