"Not come!" interrupted Nora, sharply, who kept going in and out between the two rooms. "That's all you know about it, Mr. Apperley. Octave Chattaway is sure to be here to-night——"
"Nora!"
The interruption came from George. Was he afraid of what she might say impulsively? Or did he see, coming in at the outer door, Octave herself, as though to refute the opinion of Mr. Apperley?
But only Amelia was with her. A tall girl with a large mouth and very light hair, always on the giggle. "Where are the rest?" impulsively asked George, his accent too unguarded to conceal its disappointment.
Octave detected it. She had thrown off her cloak and stood in attire scarcely suited to the occasion—a pale blue evening dress of damask, a silver necklace, silver bracelets, and a wreath of silver flowers in her hair. "What 'rest'?" asked Octave.
"Your sisters and Maude. They promised to come."
Octave tossed her head good-humouredly. "Do you think we could inflict the whole string on Mrs. Ryle? Two of us are sufficient to represent the family."
"Inflict! On a harvest-home night!" called out Trevlyn. "You know, Octave, the more the merrier on these occasions."
"Why, I really believe that's Treve!" exclaimed Octave. "When did you arrive?"
"This morning. You have grown thinner, Octave."