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Some twenty minutes later there are still two ladies sitting on in the
small tea-room, where it is the fashion at Shadonake to linger between
the hours of five and seven, who alone have not yet moved to obey the
mandate of the dressing-bell.
"What _is_ the good of waiting?" says Beatrice, impatiently; "the train
is often late, and, besides, he may not come till the nine o'clock
train."
"That is just what I want to wait for," answers Helen Romer. "I want
just to hear if the carriage has come back, and then I shall know for
certain."
"Well, you know how frightfully punctual papa is, and how angry it makes
him if anybody is late."
"Just two minutes more, Beatrice; I can dress very quickly when once
I set to work," pleads Helen.
Beatrice sits down again on the arm of the sofa, and resigns herself to
her fate; but she looks rather annoyed and vexed about it.
Mrs. Romer paces the room feverishly and impatiently.
"What did you think of Miss Nevill?" asks Beatrice.
"I could hardly see her in her hat and that thick veil; but she looked as
if she were handsome.


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