“If you please, Miss ’Lena,” said the girl, “Marster Bellmont want to speak with you in the hall.”
“With ’Lena! How funny!” exclaimed Carrie. “Are you sure it was ’Lena?”
“Yes, sure—he done ask for Miss Rivers.”
“Ask him in, why don’t you?” said Carrie, suspecting his errand, and thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing “wonderfully pleased” that ’Lena was not intentionally neglected. Before Corinda could reply, ’Lena had stepped into the hall, and was standing face to face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he asked if “she really believed they, intended to slight her,” at the same time explaining how it came to his knowledge, and saying “he hoped she would not fail to attend.”
’Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented, and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if she were not there with the rest.
“You feel better, now, don’t you ?” said Carrie with a sneer, as ’Lena re-entered the parlor.
“Yes, a great deal,” was ’Lena’s truthful answer.
“Oh, I’m real glad!” exclaimed Anna. “I most knew ’twas a mistake all the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you wear? Let me see. Why, you haven’t got anything suitable, have you?”
This was true, for ’Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and to him Anna forthwith stated the case, saying ’Lena must have a new dress, and suggesting embroidered muslin.
“How ridiculous!” muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano. “There’s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her earlier.”