The motor stopped, and the Squire helped her out. It was too late to come in, he said; he bade her good night, and went back to the car.
Norah looked in the glass in the hall, and decided that her appearance was too striking to be kept to herself. A very battered felt riding-hat surmounted Mrs. Hardy’s finery; it bore numerous mud-splashes, some of which had extended to her face. No one was in the hall; it was late, and presumably the Tired People were dressing for dinner. She headed for the kitchen, meeting, on the way, Allenby, who uttered a choking sound and dived into his pantry. Norah chuckled, and passed on.
Miss de Lisle sat near the range, knitting her ever-present muffler. She looked up, and caught her breath at the apparition that danced in—Norah, more like a well-dressed scarecrow than anything else, with her grey eyes bright among the mud-splashes. She held up Mrs. Hardy’s velvet skirt in each hand, and danced solemnly up the long kitchen, pointing each foot daintily, in the gaudy carpet slippers.
“Oh my goodness!” ejaculated Miss de Lisle—and broke into helpless laughter.
Norah sat down by the fender and told the story of her day—with a cheerful interlude when Katty came in hurriedly, failed to see her until close upon her, and then collapsed. Miss de Lisle listened, twinkling.
“Well, you must go and dress,” she said at length. “It would be only kind to every one if you came down to dinner like that, but I suppose it wouldn’t do.”
“It wouldn’t be dignified,” said Norah, looking, at the moment, as though dignity were the last thing she cared about. “Well, I suppose I must go.” She gathered up her skirts and danced out again, pausing at the door to execute a high kick. Then she curtsied demurely to the laughing cook-lady, and fled to her room by a back staircase.
She came down a while later, tubbed and refreshed, in a dainty blue frock, with a black ribbon in her shining curls. The laughter had not yet died out of her eyes; she was humming one of Jim’s school songs as she crossed the hall. Allenby was just turning from the door.
“A telegram, Miss Norah.”
“Thanks, Allenby.” She took it, still smiling. “I hope it isn’t to say any one is coming to-night,” she said, as she carried it to the light. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if it was to tell us they had leave!” There was no need to specify whom “they” meant. “But I’m afraid that’s too much to hope, just yet.” She tore open the envelope.