Outwardly, however, things seemed most prosperously smooth.
“Your frock looked lovely, Ella,” said Ermine. “Mélanie will be quite jealous of Jones.”
“And it is really not spoilt at all,” said Ella, eagerly. “But oh, Madelene, that reminds me—I had such a misfortune.”
Miss St Quentin looked up anxiously. To her nature any appeal for sympathy always brought healing on its wings.
“What?” she said, expecting to hear of some trifling accident. Her face expressed real concern when she heard the particulars of the lost shoe.
“We must certainly try to get it back,” she said. “It is pretty sure to have been picked up. Only if any dishonest servant has got hold of it, the buckle would be a temptation; an ignorant person would so easily mistake the paste for diamonds—I will write to Mrs Belvoir to-morrow, Ella—it is too late to-night—and send over a man expressly.”
“Thank you,” said Ella. “But,” she went on, “will she understand? Did she know I was your sister, as I didn’t come with you?”
“Of course,” said Madelene haughtily. “You don’t suppose Ermine and I would have given any cause for gossip. We took care to speak quite naturally the next morning about Aunt Anna having brought you over for a little—it was all Louis Belvoir, who Mistook your name at the first.”
“Oh yes, I see,” said Ella. She seemed on the point of saying more, but her courage failed her.
“I wonder if they know who the man was that I danced that last waltz with,” she said to herself.