'I am sure,' continued Frank, 'that if we were to take the votes of
the audience, Miranda would be the queen of the evening;' and he put
the crown which he had brought away with him on her head again.
Clara was silent. In a few moments they were at the door of their
house. It had begun to rain, and Madge, stepping out of the carriage
in a hurry, threw a shawl over her head, forgetting the wreath. It
fell into the gutter and was splashed with mud. Frank picked it up,
wiped it as well as he could with his pocket-handkerchief, took it
into the parlour and laid it on a chair.
CHAPTER VII
The next morning it still rained, a cold rain from the north-east, a
very disagreeable type of weather on the Fenmarket flats. Madge was
not awake until late, and when she caught sight of the grey sky and
saw her finery tumbled on the floor--no further use for it in any
shape save as rags--and the dirty crown, which she had brought
upstairs, lying on the heap, the leaves already fading, she felt
depressed and miserable. The breakfast was dull, and for the most
part all three were silent. Mrs Hopgood and Clara went away to begin
their housework, leaving Madge alone.
'Madge,' cried Mrs Hopgood, 'what am I to do with this thing? It is
of no use to preserve it; it is dead and covered with dirt.'
'Throw it down here.'
She took it and rammed it into the fire.
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