“Though it must at least be more interesting than receiving at home, for we shall see other people’s houses, and the way they arrange their drawing-rooms. I do love studying strange drawing-rooms!” said Ruth meditatively. “In country houses they ought to be charming—all chintzy and smelling of pot-pourri! All the same, Mollie, I’m disappointed in the neighbours. They aren’t a bit thrilling, as we expected.”
“People generally seem uninteresting at first. They may turn out to be perfect darlings, when we know them better. I dare say they drove away saying the same thing of us, for we behaved like a couple of marionettes, sitting dressed up in our best, saying, ‘Yes, indeed!’ ‘No, indeed!’ ‘Very much, indeed!’ ‘Thank you so much!’ as if we were wound up by machinery. We must really launch out, and say something a trifle more original!”
It was quite an exciting occasion when the girls set out on their first calling expedition. It was an ideal May afternoon, and the prospect of driving over the countryside in an open carriage, behind two prancing horses, was in itself a delight.
Victor was to make one of the party, but Jack refused contemptuously to accompany them if only for the drive, declaring that even a sprained ankle had its silver lining if it let him off so boring a function. He was sitting in the hall, waiting to cheer—or more strictly speaking, to jeer—the departure, when Ruth came downstairs buttoning her gloves, and, to her surprise, Mr Farrell was also present.
Both men looked up critically as she appeared, but neither glance was altogether approving. Her new dress looked too old and staid for so young a girl; moreover, her expression was fretful and worried. As she reached the spot where the two men were seated, Victor came into the hall from the doorway and looked round impatiently.
“Are you ready, Miss Ruth? The carriage has been waiting for some time now.”
“Oh, I have been ready for ages! It’s Mollie who is the laggard. She has been dressing ever since lunch, and is dressing still. I don’t know when she will be finished.”
Mr Farrell turned imperiously to the butler.
“Be kind enough to send a message to Miss Mary that I object to having the horses kept waiting. Three o’clock was the hour arranged, and it is already a quarter past. Ask how soon she will be ready!”
The man departed, and there was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, broken at last by the banging of a door and the sound of racing footsteps. A white-and-blue vision came flying down the staircase, with filmy skirts floating behind, white feathers drooping over the golden hair, a cobweb parasol unfurled, and held triumphantly aloft.