Suddenly there came a sound of voices from the corridor. An invisible hand flung wide the door, and they were upon her.
The room was full of people, and they were looking at her, mothers with disapproving faces, little girls and boys with smug and round-eyed wonder, her own mother horrified, almost in tears, Mrs. Marshall Gurney, tactful and insufferable.
"Of course your little Muriel is welcome to the sweets. I dare say that she felt hungry. Children so love these almond fondants—from Fuller's."
"Oh, Muriel, how could you be so naughty?"
It was dreadful to see her mother look like that.
"Muriel Hammond's been stealing all the sweets! I say, do you think she's left us any supper?"
That was Freddy Mason. He was laughing. They were all laughing. Laughing or scolding, or looking the other way and pretending not to notice.
It was more terrible than the worst of nightmares.
But the hour that followed was more terrible still. Her mother wanted to take her straight home, but Mrs. Marshall Gurney would not allow that. There she had to sit on that chair by the door all through supper. She had to try to eat the patties and cakes and jellies. She simply could not swallow.
"She's full up already," said Nancy Cartwright ruthlessly.