"What are you going to wear at the treat to-morrow?" she asked.

"A white muslin, with _entre-deux_ of lace, and the gauze garden-hat,
and a white parasol and shoes."

Lady Agatha looked a little nervous; her pink fluttered in her cheek.

"And to-morrow night?" said Emily.

"I have a very pale blue. Won't you sit down, dear Miss Fox-Seton?"

"We must both go to bed and sleep. You must not get tired."

But she sat down for a few minutes, because she saw the girl's eyes
asking her to do it.

The afternoon post had brought a more than usually depressing letter
from Curzon Street. Lady Claraway was at her motherly wits' ends, and
was really quite touching in her distraction. A dressmaker was entering
a suit. The thing would get into the papers, of course.

"Unless something happens, something to save us by staving off things,
we shall have to go to Castle Clare at once. It will be all over. No
girl could be presented with such a thing in the air. They don't like
it."

"They," of course, meant persons whose opinions made London's society's
law.

"To go to Castle Clare," faltered Agatha, "will be like being sentenced