She had been miserable, of course, but to Jeremy it had been as though he had been led into a new world altogether; Helen and she were still in their old places, and Jeremy had left them.
At last just before they all moved to Cow Farm Mary made a silly scene.
She had not intended to make a scene.

Scenes seemed to come upon her, like evil birds, straight out of the air, to seize her before she knew where she was, to envelop and carry her up with them; at last, when all the mischief was done, to set her on her feet again, battered, torn and bitterly ashamed.

One evening she was sitting deep in "Charlotte Mary," and Hamlet, bunched up against his master's leg, stared at her.

She had long ago told herself that it was ridiculous to mind what Hamlet did, that he was not looking at her, and, in any case, he was only a dog--and so on.
But to-night she was tired, and had read so long that her head ached--Hamlet was laughing at her, his eyes stared through his hair at her, cynically, superciliously, contemptuously.

His lip curled and his beard bristled.