“I can’t go away. It’s business. Something awful’s happened!” announced Maud calmly. “A man’s called, and Mason said mother was in, and she’s out, and he’s in the drawing-room, and it’s rude to send him away. I came to tell you.”
“A man! What man?”
“The Seton man. The young one with the nose.”
The two elder girls exchanged quick, eloquent glances.
“Are you sure mother is out? She was in half an hour ago.”
“She’s out now. She went across the fields to bandage the hand of the baby that the kettle scalded in the white cottage in the dip. You’ll have to see him instead.”
Rowena turned a face of despairing resignation upon her sister.
“In this blouse! A flannel blouse. Oh, Dreda—the contrast. Think of the silver tissue!”
Dreda looked, and her face was eloquent. Truth to tell, the flannel blouse, though neat and tidy, as were all Rowena’s garments, could by no manner of means be called becoming. It did seem tragic to appear to an interesting stranger under such disadvantageous circumstances.
“You must change it!” she cried hastily. “Put on your blue dress; you look ripping in that. I’ll go in for a minute, and tell him to stay while I run for mother; by that time you’ll be ready, and can talk till she gets back. I’ll tell Mason to get tea. Fly! You are so quick, you can be ready in five minutes.”