noon
`` She 's no word to excuse herself , simmingly . '' `` That 's because she do know nothing can excuse what she 's done ... '' And , indeed , Loveday stood without speech . Perhaps in all that buzz of murmuring she heard the voice of her own conscience at last , for she made no effort to defend herself , or , perhaps , even at that hour , she heard nothing but the dread whisper of defeat . She stood before Flora Le Pettit like a wilted rose whose petals hang limply , about to fall , fronting a bloom that spreads its glowing leaves in the full flush of noon . The one girl was triumphant in her beauty and her unassailable position , every flounce out-curved in freshness ; the other drooped at brow and hem , her slender neck downbent , her sash-ends pendant as broken tendrils after rain upon her heavily hanging skirts . All she was heard to murmur , and that very low , was a halting sentence about her white sash : `` But you said -- you said you 'd dance with me if I got my sash ... '' or some such words , but only Miss Le Pettit caught all the muttered syllables , and she never spoke of them , save with a petulant reluctance to Mr. Constantine when he questioned her afterwards . `` Girl , '' said the Mayor sharply , `` is it true ? '