Little Annie Eustace, who had been allowed to come to a dinner party for the first time in her life and who looked quite charming in an old, much mended, but very fine India muslin and her grandmother's corals, did not, on the contrary, believe one word of Miss Wallingford's.
Her sympathy was all with her Margaret.

It was a horrible situation and her dear Margaret was the victim of her own hospitality.

She looked across the table at Alice Mendon for another sympathiser, but Alice was talking busily to the man at her right about a new book.
She had apparently not paid much attention.

Annie wondered how it could have escaped her.

That horrid girl had spoken so loudly.