Rowena stared into the fire as she spoke. Mrs. Burke looked at her sharply; then went on:
"I think we must leave town next week. It is getting near Christmas, and I mean to have a big house-party this year. You will be glad, I know. How you hate town, don't you?"
"It is always such a rush," Rowena said. "You make me breathless. I cannot keep pace with you. And I don't feel so young as you do. I get so tired."
"I'm rather tired myself," Mrs. Burke admitted; "but I'm only tired when I'm doing nothing. Now, to-morrow morning I'm going to drive the Carlton Hughes down to Richmond in a car—we shall lunch there. But I've promised to go to the matinée at Chelsea for the Poor Actors' Fund, so I must be back early. Would you like to come with me?"
"Not unless you really want me."
"I can do without you. I've asked Lady Goring and her brother to dinner, and the Yates, and I think Mr. Wales is coming in afterwards with his violin—I've asked him professionally. Lady Goring is mad on music, and so is her brother. He has just returned from India, rather a nice man. You'll see to the table decorations, won't you? The new parlour maid is such a fool—she's no ideas in the floral line."
"Oh, I'll see to the dinner; and I shall have a quiet day to myself," said Rowena contentedly. "Don't you think we had better write and let Mrs. Gates know we are returning to the Court so soon? She will want to get things ready."
"Yes; write to her to-morrow."
The talk went on. At last the dressing-bell rang, and Rowena was free. She went up to her room and sank into a chair before her fire. She could hardly believe, even now, how her whole future life would become altered by the event of the afternoon.
She realized that responsibilities and cares would mingle with the vista of sunshine and joy that lay before her. She wondered how Mysie would take the news.