"My dear, what a lovely gown!—and how sweet you look!"
"Don't talk nonsense, Waggin!—and put on this rose I've brought for you!"
Waggin submitted while Marcia adorned her and gave various pats and pulls to her hair.
"There!—you look ten years younger," said the girl, with her bright look, stepping back. "But where is James?"
The butler stepped forward.
"Mr. James will meet you at the Opera."
"Oh, good!" murmured Marcia in her companion's ear. "Now we can croon."
And croon they did through the long crowded way to Covent Garden. By the time the motor reached St. Martin's Lane, Waggin was in possession of all that had happened. She had long expected it, having shrewdly noted many signs of Lady Coryston's accumulating wrath. But now that "Corry," her dear "Corry," with whom she had fought so many a schoolroom fight in the days of his Eton jackets, was really disinherited, her concern was great. Tears stood in her kind eyes. "Poor Corry!" alternated in her mouth with "Your poor mother!" Sinner and judge appealed equally to her pity.
Marcia meanwhile sat erect and fierce.
"What else could he expect? Father did leave the estates to mother—just because Corry had taken up such views—so that she might keep us straight."