Isabel rose. "I shall not stay here to be insulted. It's quite obvious, Laura, why you say such things."
"The next time, you might mention that among the reasons why you refused Mr. Neston was, that he never asked you."
"I see what it is," said Isabel. "Don't you, Maud?"
"Oh, nothing. Only, I hope--I wish you joy of him."
"If you don't mind a slanderer," added Maud.
"It's not true!" said Laura. "How dare you say it?"
"Take care, dear, that he doesn't fancy you're in a hurry---- What was your phrase?" said Isabel.
"I don't choose to hear a friend run down for nothing," declared Laura.
"A friend? How very chivalrous you are! Come, Maud dear."
"Good-bye, Laura," said Maud. "I'm sure you'll be sorry when you come to think."
"There!" said Isabel. "I do not care to be insulted any more."
The two visitors swept out, and Laura was left alone. Whereupon she began to cry. "I do hate that sort of vulgarity," said she, mopping her eyes. "I don't believe he ever thought----"
Mrs. Pocklington entered in urbane majesty. "Well, is Isabel pleased with her little man?" she asked. "Why, child, what's the matter?"
"No, I'm not. Those girls have been horrid."
"Oh, poor George Neston. What did they say?"
"Isabel pretended he had been in love with her, and--and was in love with her, and that she had refused him."
Mrs. Pocklington smiled. "Stop crying, my dear. It used to suit me, but it doesn't suit you. Stop, dear."
"Very well, mamma," said poor Laura, thinking it a little hard that she might not even cry.
"Good child," said Mrs. Pocklington. "Now, listen to me. You're never to think of him again----"
"A tiresome, meddlesome fellow. Is your father in, Laura?"
"Yes, dear. Are you going to see him about----?"
"Why, you're as bad as Isabel!" said Mrs. Pocklington, with feigned severity, disengaging Laura's arms from her neck. "He's never asked you either!"
"The vanity of these children! There, let me go; and for goodness' sake, don't be a cry-baby, Laura. Men hate water-bottles."
Thus mingling consolation and reproof, Mrs. Pocklington took her way to her husband's study.
"I want five minutes, Robert," she said, sitting down.
"It's worth a thousand pounds a minute, my dear," said Mr. Pocklington, genially, laying down his pipe and his papers. "What with this strike----"