“And if he's going to marry her,” said Silvia, in a convincing whisper, “I guess I can sit in all the chairs if I want to.”
“Hush!” warned Lucy, “here comes Miss Anstice.”
Miss Anstice, with her front breadth all stained with jelly cake and marmalade, was wandering around, quite subdued. It was pitiful to see how she always got into the thickest of the groups to hide her gown, trying to be sociable with the girls. But the girls not reciprocating, she was at last taken in tow by Miss Ophelia, who set about showing her some rare old china, as a special attention.
Now, Miss Anstice cared nothing for rare old china, or indeed, for relics or curiosities of any sort; but she was very meek on this occasion, and so she allowed herself to be led about from shelf to shelf; and though she said nothing, Miss Ophelia was so enchanted by her own words and memories, as she described in a fluent and loving manner their various claims to admiration, that she thought the younger Miss Salisbury quite a remarkable person.
“Show her the Lowestoft collection, sister,” called Mr. John Clemcy, from across the apartment, and breaking off from his animated discussion over an old Egyptian vase, in which Miss Salisbury had carried herself brilliantly.
“I will, Brother John,” assented Miss Clemcy, with great affability. “Now here,” and she opened the door to its cabinet, “is what will interest you greatly, I think.”
Suddenly, a crash as of breaking porcelain struck upon the ear. Every one in the old room jumped, save the persons who might be supposed to be the most interested—Mr. Clemcy and his sister. Their faces did not change.
Miss Salisbury deserted the Egyptian vase. “Who,” she demanded, hurrying to the centre of the apartment, a red spot on either cheek, “has done this?”
Mr. John Clemcy followed her. “Do not, I beg,” he said quietly, “notice it.”
“Notice it! after your extreme hospitality—oh! which one of my scholars can have forgotten herself enough to touch a thing?”