Читать книгу Sydney Lisle, the Heiress of St. Quentin онлайн

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It is poor fun to enjoy things all alone! A great tear splotched down upon the blue-and-gold cover of the book that Sydney was holding, and left a mark upon it. She dried it hastily, and got up from the floor, just as Ward came into the room.

“Would you wish to dress, ma’am? It is half-past seven.”

“Yes, please,” the girl answered, wondering if she ever would have courage to address this dignified person familiarly as “Ward.”

It did not seem very possible at present.

Sydney did not own a real evening dress, but Ward managed the plain white nuns-veiling frock which she and Dolly had had just alike for the Christmas parties last year so as to make it look very nice.

It proved to be a little short. “I think perhaps I had better let a tuck down before to-morrow night,” Sydney suggested meekly, noticing how much slender black ankle showed beneath it.

There was a moment’s pause before Ward answered her with studied calm, “I do not think that will be necessary, ma’am.”

She was dressed in good time, and stood looking rather forlornly at her maid, who was on her knees, unpacking, with a quite expressionless face, the clothes mother had put in so carefully.