She was glad that he had gone away to-day, so that she would not see him again till the next morning; that gave more time.
She did not want to go to Chartcote to lunch. She would not be able to eat anything if she felt as miserable as she did now, and she would find it impossible to talk to any one.
Even her mother's letter of advice might not help her very much—now that old letter had been seen.
Gwen walked about her room, sometimes leaning over the foot of her bed and staring blankly at the dresses spread out before her, and sometimes stopping to look at herself in a long mirror on the way, feeling very sorry for that poor pretty girl whose image she saw reflected there. When she heard a knock at the door she almost jumped. Was it Lady Dashwood? Gwen's answering voice sounded very soft and meek, as if a mouse was saying "Come in" to a cat that demanded entrance.
It was Mrs. Dashwood who opened the door and walked in.
"You want advice about what to wear for lunch?" said Mrs. Dashwood. "Lady Dashwood is finishing off some parcels, and asked me to come and offer you my services—if you'll have me?" and she actually laughed as she caught sight of the display on the bed.
"Very business-like," she said, walking up to the bed. She did not seem to have noticed Gwen's distracted appearance, and this gave Gwen time and courage to compose her features and assume her ordinary bearing.
"Thanks so much," she said, going to the foot of the bed. "I was afraid I bothered Lady Dashwood when I asked about the lunch."
"It really doesn't much matter what it is you wear for Chartcote," said May Dashwood slowly, as her eye roamed over the bed. She did not appear to have heard Gwen's last remark.
"People do dress so funnily here," said Gwen, beginning to feel happy again, "but I thought perhaps that——"