The woman raised a quiet, yet protesting face; but Mrs. Vanderburgh,
related to an earl, surveyed her haughtily, and pressed on.

"Excuse me," said the plain-looking woman, "but it is impossible for me
to move; the people are coming out this way, Madam, and--"

"And I must get by," answered Mrs. Vanderburgh, interrupting, and
wriggling past as well as she could. But the lace on her flowing sleeve
catching on the umbrella handle of a stout German coming the other way,
she tore it half across. A dark flush of anger rushed over her face,
and she vented all her spite on the plain-looking person in her path.
"If you had moved, this wouldn't have happened!" she exclaimed.

"It was impossible for me to do so," replied the woman, just as quietly
as ever. Just then Tom Selwyn rushed up: "Mother!" to the plain-looking
woman; "well, we _did_ get separated! Oh!" and seeing her
companion he plunged back.

Fanny Vanderburgh, well in the rear, a party of young German girls
impeding the way, felt her mother's grasp, and looked around.

"Oh, you've torn your lace sleeve!" she exclaimed, supposing the black
looks referred to that accident.

"Torn my sleeve!" echoed her mother, irately, "that's a trifle," while
Fanny stared in surprise, knowing, by past experience, that much lesser
accidents had made black days for her; "I'm the unluckiest person
alive. And think of all the money your father has given me to spend,
and it won't do any good. Fanny, I'm going straight back to Paris, as
quickly as possible."