crimson-coloured silk gown, that makes one glow freshly every time one looks at her.
"You here?" exclaims a young man who is walking slowly by, but has now stopped short to stare at us, "Nell! Dolly!"
"Did you never see us before?" I ask, rather tartly. "Do you take us for ghosts?"
"Not exactly," he says, recovering himself, "only I did not expect to see you here."
He shakes hands with Mrs. Skipworth, and looks about for a chair, but as the supply of seats by no means comes up to the demand, after a little search he comes back.
"Would you not rather stroll about than sit still, Nell?"
"I think I would."
"Will you come, Dolly?"
But Dolly, bearing in mind the excellent lines that set forth that "two is company, three is trumpery," declines the honour, so we depart without her.
"May I ask why you looked so astonished just now when you saw us?" I ask. "Is there anything so very extraordinary in our coming here, pray?"
"Nothing," he says, coldly: "only you had not told me you were coming, that was all."
"And how could I tell you, when I have not seen you for three whole days? I will tell you the truth," I say, suddenly, my voice falling; "I hate being here; I hate it, but I could not get out of it. Mrs. Vasher asked the governor to let us come, without my knowing anything about it, of course, and papa said 'Yes,' and told us he had accepted the invitation. Dolly declared she would not come; she is a good hater. Mother got out of it in some wonderful manner, but all our manœuvres were unavailing, and—here we are."
"It was a pity your father never knew the truth," says George.
