Slowly it began to come upon me that these fine friends of Mattie's never would be ladies and gentlemen. Fine as they were, much as they talked of "fun" they had had and were going to have, I knew they were unlike the simple-minded, refined young people I had been among in my quiet country home; and then I began to wish I had not come.
I was ashamed of sitting there in Mattie's finery—of being teased about "running away," of being asked if it wasn't "too jolly to escape the dragon," as Bob and Mattie called our dear Miss Harding, and last, but worst of all, glancing across the crowded hall, I saw in the distance Philip and Laura Sydney. Then they had come! The voices of my new friends buzzed in my ears, their loud laughter was dreadful for that moment.
I shrank back, afraid to meet Laura's gentle gaze, ashamed to have either her or Philip see me in my borrowed plumes, and with such a company.
I heard Kate Rivers's voice in a whisper behind my back.
"Your old muslin, isn't it?"
"Yes," was Mattie's giggling rejoinder. "She hadn't anything of her own."
A contemptuous "Humph!" from Bob's sister followed.
My cheeks flamed. Could I get away? No; the speeches were beginning. How it went on for an hour I do not know. It was a dreadful period for me, and Mattie vainly tried to rouse me. Finally I managed to say:
"Mattie, I see the Sydneys," and to my horror she answered, promptly:
"Oh, what fun! I do want to know them. Come, Cecy, after all I've done for you, you'll have to introduce me."