“A coat of arms. Such lovely paper! Beautiful writing.”
“Mine is from one of the agencies. Application from a client, no doubt. Be quick—be quick! We are dying to read them.”
“Why didn’t you open them, then? It is your business as well as mine.”
Hope opened the agency letter first, and shuddered dramatically at the intelligence that a certain Mrs Annesley would be glad to engage her services for the evening of December the 27th; then came the turn of the second letter, and her sisters saw the pale cheeks deepen into rose as she read its contents.
“It is from a Mrs Welsby, in Belgrave Square, a sister of the Mr Merrilies who was at The Shanty. He has told her about me, and she wants me for the 29th. I—I think I shall take a berth on an Atlantic liner and emigrate. I daren’t face it. I shall make an idiot of myself; I know I shall.”
“All right. If you don’t go—I shall!” cried Madge. “I can sing too—in a fashion—and that money would be remarkably useful to us just now. Choose between yourself and me; that is the position.”
There was no sympathy forthcoming for Hope’s nervousness; on the contrary, she was made to feel that it was her duty to overcome any such feeling, and to do her best for the sake of the family. Happy girl! her chance had come, while others were still waiting their turn; it was they who were in need of pity, not one to whom a longed-for opportunity had been given. Hope listened, assented, and let no further word of dread pass her lips. In truth, after the first shock was over, she forgot everything but one absorbing question—would Ralph be at Mrs Welsby’s party? Would she be able to speak to him? Would his face lighten at the sight of her, as it had done during that happy fortnight at The Shanty? At one moment she longed passionately to meet him; at the next she almost wished him absent, since it would be doubly difficult to be natural and unconstrained beneath his scrutiny.