"Dear Janey, you always were the soul of sense," remarked Dorothy, in a somewhat languid voice. "For my part I pity those poor little mites, Violet and the rest of them. I know they are just as curious with regard to the issue of events as we are, and yet I can see them at this moment, with my mental vision, being driven like sheep into the fold. They'll be in bed, poor mites, when we are satisfying our curiosity.""When she can," replied Bridget. Her hands dropped to her sides. She lowered her eyes; her proud lips were firmly shut.Olive left the room with slow, unwilling footsteps, and Janet bent her head over the copy of Molière she was studying.
"I don't think I ought to listen to you, Bridget.""Are you coming, Dorothy?" called Janet May from the end of the passage.
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"Yes, Marshall," said Dorothy; she stopped. Janet stopped also, and gave Marshall a freezing glance.
"Yes, you ought. I'm going to give you a lovely description. Papa has had his dinner, and he's pacing up and down on the walk which hangs over the lake. He is smoking a meerschaum pipe, and the dogs are with him."[Pg 72]
A slight additional color came into Miss Percival's cheeks.
Mrs. Freeman and Miss Patience had driven away in a very smart carriage with a pair of horses to meet her.