sweep them off the table into the hamper herself, and caught sight of Ermengarde’s new books.
“And you”—to Ermengarde—“have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You will stay there all day tomorrow, and I shall write to your papa. What would HE say if he knew where you are tonight?”
Something she saw in Sara’s grave, fixed gaze at this moment made her turn on her fiercely.
“What are you thinking of?” she demanded. “Why do you look at me like that?”
the streets, a forlorn little figure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying to hold her hat on when the wind was blowing, and feeling the water soak through her shoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowds hurrying past her made her loneliness greater. When she had been the Princess Sara, driving