The girls went upstairs together, Nora leading the way.
“It’s an awful squash in your room,” said Nora abruptly. “I don’t know how you’ll manage.”
“My fault, I suppose, for bringing so many things! But where else could I put them?”
Nora nodded gravely, as though considering the excuse. The newcomer suddenly felt herself criticised by this odd schoolgirl and resented it.
The door of the spare-room was open, and the girls entered upon a scene of chaos. Annette rose from her knees, showing a brick-red countenance of wrath that strove in vain for any sort of dignity. And again that look of distant laughter came into Lady Connie’s eyes.
“My dear Annette, why aren’t you having a rest, as I told you! I can do with anything to-night.”
“Well, my lady, if you’ll tell me how you’ll get into bed, unless I put some of these things away, I should be obliged!” said Annette, with a dark look at Nora. “I’ve asked for a wardrobe for you, and this young lady says there isn’t one. There’s that hanging cupboard”—she pointed witheringly to the curtained recess—“your dresses will be ruined there in a fortnight. And there’s that chest of drawers. Your things will have to stay in the trunks, as far as I can see, and then you might as well sleep on them. It would give you more room!”
With which stroke of sarcasm, Annette returned to the angry unpacking of her mistress’s bag.
“I must buy a wardrobe,” said Connie, looking round her in perplexity. “Never mind, Annette, I can easily buy one.”
It was now Nora’s turn to colour.