There stood Hannah, white capped and white aproned, holding the silver serving tray like a petrified statue of severity, and not one of them spoke, but their silence, their dignified, reproachful silence was infinitely worse than a torrent of invective.

How Annie wished they would speak.

How she wished that she could speak herself, but she knew better than to even offer an excuse for her tardiness.

Well she knew that the stony silence which would meet that would be worse, much worse than this.
So she slid into her place opposite her Aunt Jane, and began her own task of dividing into sections the omelet which was quite flat because she was late, and seemed to reproach her in a miserable, low-down sort of fashion.
However, there was in the girl's heart a little glint of youthful joy, which was unusual.

She had met Mr.Von Rosen and had forgotten herself, that is at first, and he had looked kindly at her.