'Not a bit; I am not run about like all of you,' she answered,
brightly. 'Besides, it is such fun! I feel like Whit Monday at
Beechcroft! Don't you remember the pink and blue glazed calico banners
crowned with summer snowballs? And the big drum? What a nice-looking
set of girls! How pleasant to see rosy, English faces tidily got up!
They were rosy enough in Ireland, but a great deal too picturesque.
Now these are a sort of flower of maidenhood--'

'You are getting quite poetical, Lily.'

'It's the effect of walking in procession--there's something quite
exhilarating in it; ay, and of having a bit of old Beechcroft about
me. Do tell me who that lady is; I ought to know her, I'm sure! Oh,
Miss Smith, good morning. How many girls have you brought? Oh! the
crimson rosettes, are they? York and Lancaster?--indeed. I'm glad we
have some shelter for them; I'm afraid there is another shower. Have
you no umbrella, my dear? Come under mine.'

It was a fierce scud of hail, hitting rather than wetting, but Dolores
had the satisfaction of declaring the edges of her dress to be damp and
going off to change it, though Aunt Jane pinched the kilting and said
the damp was imperceptible, and Wilfred muttered, 'Made of sugar, only
not so sweet.'

In fact, she hoped that Constance, who had told of her hatred to these
great functions and willingness to do anything to avoid them, would
avail herself of the excuse; but though the young lady must have seen
her go, she never attempted to follow; and Dolores, feeling her own
room dull, came down again to find the drawing-room empty, and on the
next gleam of sunshine, she decided on going to seek her friend.