They were very kind to her, and she really had nothing to complain of on
the score of inattention. Mary, who happened to be the only daughter at
home, took her in charge and put her through a steady course of gardens,
glasshouses, family pets, and old furniture--for none of which Mittie
cared a rap. What she had wanted was a gay young party, plenty of fun
and merriment, and for herself abundance of admiration.
But Fred made himself scarce, only appearing at luncheon and vanishing
afterwards; and Mrs. Ferris was occupied elsewhere most of the time;
while between Mary and herself there was absolutely nothing in common.
Mary, though only the senior by two or three years, was not only
clever, but very intelligent and well read, and she had plenty of
conversation. But the subjects for which she cared, though they would
have delighted Joan, were utter tedium to Mittie's empty little head.
Before an hour had passed, Mary's boredom was only less pronounced than
Mittie's own.
It was so tiresome, so stupid of Joan not to come! Mittie complained
bitterly to herself of this. If Joan had come too, all would have gone
well. She could not help seeing that she had not been meant to come
without Joan, still less instead of Joan.
With all her assurance, this realisation that she was not wanted and
that everybody was regretting Joan's absence made her horribly
uncomfortable.
When left alone for a few minutes, early in the afternoon, she tugged
angrily at her gloves, and muttered: "I wish I wasn't here.
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