“Yes. We thought we ought to encourage them. It was the Congress of Sunday-school managers for our archdeaconry.”
“Did you acquire any new ideas?” asked Frank; while Rosamond’s very eyelashes seemed to curl with suppressed diversion.
“Oh yes. We explained our system of tickets, and the Arch-deacon said it was a very good one, and ought to be adopted everywhere.”
This mode of acquisition of new ideas was quite too much for Julius and Charlie, who both exploded; but Frank retained composure enough to ask, “Did you explain it in person?”
“No. We made Mr. Venn.”
“The schoolmaster?” said Julius.
“No. He is our clergyman, and he always does as we tell him; and so Dunstone is quite the model parish of the archdeaconry.”
Julius could not help making an odd little bend of the head, half deferential, half satirical; and Raymond said, “Cecil, I believe it rests with you to make the move.” An ingenuous girlish blush mantled on her cheek as she looked towards Rosamond and moved.
The drawing-room adjoined the dining-room, and likewise had a glass door leading into the conservatory; but this, like the other windows, was concealed by the pale-blue damask curtains that descended from cornices gilded like the legs of the substantial chairs and sofas. There was, however, no lack of modern light cane and basket seats round the fire, and it looked cheery and comfortable. Rosamond put an arm round Anne’s waist—“Poor tired dear, come and lie on the sofa.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. The gentlemen will come in.”