‘Never mind the girls, I will look after them; I meant to walk. Don’t stand on the step. Come down,’ she added sharply, but not in time, for the horses gave a jerk, and, with a scream from Constance, down tumbled Dolores, or would have tumbled, but that she was caught between her aunt and Miss Hacket, who with one voice admonished her never to do that again, for there was nothing more dangerous. Indeed, there was more anger in Lady Merrifield’s tone than her niece had yet heard, and as there was no making out that there was the least injury to the girl, she was forced to walk home, in spite of all Miss Hacket’s protestations and refusals, which had nearly ended in her exposing herself to the same peril as Dolores, only that Lady Merrifield fairly pushed her in and shut the door on her. Nothing would have compensated to Dolores but that her Constance should have jumped out to accompany her and bewail her aunt’s cruelty, but devotion did not reach to such an extent. Her aunt, however, said in a tone that might be either apology or reproof-- ‘My dear, I could not let poor Miss Hacket walk after all she has done and with all she has to do today.’ Dolores vouchsafed no answer, but Aunt Jane said-- ‘All which applies doubly to you, Lily.’ ‘Not a bit; I am not run about like all of you,’ she answered, brightly. ‘Besides, it is such fun! I feel like Whit Monday at Beechcroft! Don’t you remember the pink and blue glazed calico banners crowned with summer snowballs? And the big drum? What a nice-looking set of girls! How pleasant to see rosy, English faces tidily got up! They were rosy enough in Ireland, but a great deal too picturesque. Now these are a sort of flower of maidenhood--’ ‘You are getting quite poetical, Lily.’ ‘It’s the effect of walking in procession--there’s something quite exhilarating in it; ay, and of having a bit of old Beechcroft about me. Do tell me who that lady is; I ought to know her, I’m sure! Oh, Miss Smith, good morning. How many girls have you brought? Oh! the crimson rosettes, are they? York and Lancaster?--indeed. I’m glad we have some shelter for them; I’m afraid there is another shower. Have you no umbrella, my dear? Come under mine.’ It was a fierce scud of hail, hitting rather than wetting, but Dolores had the satisfaction of declaring the edges of her dress to be damp and going off to change it, though Aunt Jane pinched the kilting and said the damp was imperceptible, and Wilfred muttered, ‘Made of sugar, only not so sweet.’ In fact, she hoped that Constance, who had told of her hatred to these great functions and willingness to do anything to avoid them, would avail herself of the excuse; but though the young lady must have seen her go, she never attempted to follow; and Dolores, feeling her own room dull, came down again to find the drawing-room empty, and on the next gleam of sunshine, she decided on going to seek her friend.