Presently it was all over, and they were going out.
'We were to wait for the others here,' said Peggy, the girl who had been sitting with Sibyl, as they emerged into the sunshine with the crowd. 'Mother and Mr. Doll were just behind us.'
Lady Pierpoint, Sibyl's aunt, presently joined them with Mr. Doll Loftus, an irreproachable-looking, unapproachable-looking fair young man, who, it was whispered, was almost too smart to live, but who nevertheless bore himself with severe simplicity.
He went up to Sibyl with some diffidence.
'You are tired,' he said anxiously.
Doll's remarks were considered banal in the extreme by some women, but others who admired fair hair and pathetic eyes found a thoughtful beauty in them.
It would be difficult from her manner to infer which class of sentiments this particular remark awoke in Sibyl.
'Music always tires me,' she replied, without looking at him, dropping her white eyelids.
'Are we all here?' said Lady Pierpoint. 'Peggy, and Sibyl—my dear, how tired you look!—and myself, and you, Mr. Doll; that is only four, and "we are seven." Ah! here come Mr. and Mrs. Cathcart. Now we only want Mr. Loftus.'
'The Dean caught him in the doorway,' said Doll. 'He is coming now.'