“You’ve forgotten your audience,” said Gwen sarcastically, “I know nothing of the two first, the third will come, I suppose, in time—by all accounts, it comes always to the beautiful—but I shall not know what on earth to do with it when it arrives, and oh! I don’t want it! I want to ‘live at full pitch’, I couldn’t manage that with my feet clogged with honey!” “You want to be loved, my dear, to be loved, loved, loved, and when you are, you’ll find out what an arrant little goose you are making of yourself.” The girl turned suddenly upon her and gave her one of her most volcanic hugs. When Mrs. Fellowes got out of it, panting, she set to putting Gwen’s dress in order with sundry soft touches to neck and arms. “I do love nice soft girlish flesh,” she said, with a little laugh. “Oh, how I do wish to goodness that John wasn’t a parson this night of all others! I want dreadfully to see you there, but he can’t come, it’s impossible, you know Sam Tidd is dying and even for you I couldn’t go without him!” “Mrs. Fellowes!” she cried sweeping round, “are you not coming? This is, oh, this is awful! I never looked at your dress, I was so taken up with my own. Oh, to go alone with Lady Mary, and to my first ball!” Her face was furious, and Mrs. Fellowes could have cried. “I did not tell you at first, I was so astonished at your brilliant completeness, I _am_ sorry.” Gwen stamped. “It is atrocious, abominable! To go alone with no one in the room to care a rap how I look! You can’t help it, I know, but oh, you must see the beastliness of the whole thing.” “The carriage is coming, darling, come down to your mother.” “I? Certainly not! Mary and Simpson!” she called. “There, isn’t it lovely?” said Gwen as Simpson wrapped her in her cloak, “I do love the sheeny changes in white plush! Mrs. Fellowes, you will come down with me, won’t you? I hardly know Lady Mary.” When they came to the foot of the stairs Mary came forward and said in a quick frightened tone, “Miss Gwen, God bless you, dear! They will be proud of you! The room is well lighted, shall I open the door, Miss?” “Did they ask for me?” demanded Gwen. She had let her cloak drop and was turning slowly round, that the old woman might have a good view of her. “Ask, Miss!”—She broke off. “I know they did not, and they don’t want me either, and Mrs. Fellowes isn’t coming—did you know that? I am glad you like me, Mary!” She stooped suddenly seeing a tear on Mary’s cheek, and kissed it into a wet smudge on the bed of wrinkles, then she turned and kissed Mrs. Fellowes lightly, and walked down the great hall like a young queen setting out on a triumphal progress. When Gwen dropped her cloak and displayed herself for Mary’s admiration, she had two spectators she certainly never bargained for.