He smiled, and she blushed deeply....
Chapter Six
IT was very late that night—indeed the hour was dangerously close upon the morning after—before the two friends found themselves alone together again. Rosina lay up among the pillows, the centre of a mass of blue cambric, with tiny bands of lace confining the fulness here and there; while Molly, in such a dressing-gown as grows only in the Rue de la Paix, sat on the foot of the narrow continental bed and thoughtfully bound the braids of her bonny brown hair.
“Well, you know him now,” Rosina said at last, the inflection of her voice rampant with interrogative meaning.
“Yes,” was the non-committal answer.
“Don’t be horrid, Molly; you know I want so much to know what you think of him? Isn’t he delicious? Isn’t he grand? Didn’t he impress you as being just an ideal sort of a celebrity?”
Molly opened her eyes to an exceeding width.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“Don’t know! then you don’t like him? What don’t you like about him?”