The ladies remained downstairs in the dull splendour of the drawing-room; Mary and Barbara were delivered to Miss Fortescue, the most recent guardian of Mary's life and prospects.
"She's simply awful.

You needn't mind a word she says," Mary instructed her friend, and prepared then to behave accordingly.

They had tea, and Mary did as she pleased.

Miss Fortescue protested, scolded, was weak when she should have been strong, and said often, "Now, Mary, there's a dear." Barbara, the faint colour coming and going in her cheeks, watched.

She watched Mary now with quite a fresh intention.