When it was over she capped it by a story of
her own. Lucy became rather hysterical with the delay. In vain
she tried to check, or at all events to accelerate, the tale. It
was not till a late hour that Miss Bartlett had recovered her
luggage and could say in her usual tone of gentle reproach:
"Well, dear, I at all events am ready for Bedfordshire. Come into
my room, and I will give a good brush to your hair."
With some solemnity the door was shut, and a cane chair placed
for the girl. Then Miss Bartlett said "So what is to be done?"
She was unprepared for the question. It had not occurred to her
that she would have to do anything. A detailed exhibition of her
emotions was all that she had counted upon.
"What is to be done? A point, dearest, which you alone can
settle."
The rain was streaming down the black windows, and the great room
felt damp and chilly, One candle burnt trembling on the chest of
drawers close to Miss Bartlett's toque, which cast monstrous and
fantastic shadows on the bolted door.
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