'Miss Kennedy—' low at Wych Hazel's side.
'One of the aforesaid pleasant realities,' said Kitty, with her hand on Wych Hazel's shoulder. 'Come, Duchess!'
Hazel's words had been all ready, but at this speech they died away. It seemed to her as if her cheeks must light up the darkness!
'Your carriage is in waiting,' Rollo went on, in a calm low tone, which ignored Kitty and everybody else.
Still no word.
'Now come!' said Miss Fisher—'don't you play tyrant yet awhile. She's going home with me. Poor little Duchess!— daresn't say her soul's her own! What's the matter—didn't she ask you pretty?'
There was no answer to this. Rollo did not honour her with any attention. Hazel freed her shoulder from Miss Fisher's hand, and turned short about.
'There is no use contesting things,' she said, speaking with an effort which made the words sound hard-edged and abrupt. 'I shall drive home by myself to Chickaree. Good-night.' And without a look right or left, she went up the steps and across the hall into the carriage at the other door.
Rollo saw her in without a word, and turned away.
And Miss Kennedy,—as if her spite against something or somebody was not yet appeased,—began deliberately, one by one, to take the 'favours' off her dress and drop them through the open carriage window upon the road. But, let me say, she was not (like Quickear) laying a clue for herself, by which to find her way back to the 'German.' Never again.