Gwen stamped.
“It is atrocious, abominable! To go alone with no one in the room to care a rap how I look! You can’t help it, I know, but oh, you must see the beastliness of the whole thing.”
“The carriage is coming, darling, come down to your mother.”
“I? Certainly not! Mary and Simpson!” she called.
“There, isn’t it lovely?” said Gwen as Simpson wrapped her in her cloak, “I do love the sheeny changes in white plush! Mrs. Fellowes, you will come down with me, won’t you? I hardly know Lady Mary.”
When they came to the foot of the stairs Mary came forward and said in a quick frightened tone,
“Miss Gwen, God bless you, dear! They will be proud of you! The room is well lighted, shall I open the door, Miss?”
“Did they ask for me?” demanded Gwen. She had let her cloak drop and was turning slowly round, that the old woman might have a good view of her.
“Ask, Miss!”—She broke off.
“I know they did not, and they don’t want me either, and Mrs. Fellowes isn’t coming—did you know that? I am glad you like me, Mary!”