Laura had been, for some six weeks or more, a listless and unsuccessful
pupil, when one morning she received an invitation from Godmother to
spend the coming monthly holiday--from Saturday till Monday--at
Prahran. The month before, she had been one of the few girls who had
nowhere to go; she had been forced to pretend that she liked staying
in, did it in fact by preference.--Now her spirits rose.
Marina, Godmother's younger daughter, from whom Laura inherited her
school-books, was to call for her. By a little after nine o'clock on
Saturday morning, Laura had finished her weekly mending, tidied her
bedroom, and was ready dressed even to her gloves. It was a cool, crisp
day; and her heart beat high with expectation.
From the dining-hall, it was not possible to hear the ringing of the
front-door bell; but each time either of the maids entered with a
summons, Laura half rose from her chair, sure that her turn had come at
last. But it was half-past nine, then ten, then half-past; it struck
eleven, the best of the day was passing, and still Marina did not come.
Only two girls besides herself remained. Then respectively an aunt and
a mother were announced, and these two departed. Laura alone was left:
she had to bear the disgrace of Miss Day observing: "Well, it looks as
if YOUR friends had forgotten all about you, Laura."
Humiliated beyond measure, Laura had thoughts of tearing off her hat
and jacket and declaring that she felt too ill to go out. But at last,
when she was almost sick with suspense, Mary put her tidy head in once
more.
"Miss Rambotham has been called for."
Laura was on her feet before the words were spoken. She sped to the
reception-room.
Marina, a short, sleek-haired, soberly dressed girl of about twenty,
had Godmother's brisk, matter-of-fact manner.