"It's only a woman who would make you leave an early Victorian drawing-room for a Georgian hall, and get you on an ottoman of the third Empire, and expect you to admire the mixture," growled Cuthbert. It was this sort of talk that was to be had out of him after he had been to the Dudgeons' balls.
Elma still prized her meetings with Adelaide Maud at Miss Grace's, but recognized where her friendship ceased there. There seemed no getting further into the affections of Adelaide Maud than through that warm comradeship at Miss Grace's, or through her outspoken admiration for Mr. Leighton. And "Adelaide Maud had grown passé" Jean had declared.
The world seemed very cold and unreal at this juncture.
Mabel came into Elma's room one day looking very disturbed. There was a fleeting questioning look of "Are you to be trusted?" in her eye.
"You know I'm to be trusted, Mabs," said Elma, as though they had been discussing the iniquity of anything else. "You aren't vexed at Isobel's coming are you?"
"Oh, no," said Mabel quickly, "it isn't that, it's other things." She threw herself languidly on a couch.
"Haven't you noticed that the Merediths haven't been here for a fortnight?"
Elma brushed diligently at fair, very wavy hair. It fell in layers of soft brown, and shone a little with gold where the light touched the ripples, diligently created with over-night plaiting. She had grown, but in a slender manner, and was admittedly the petite member of the family. There was a wealth of comprehension in the glance she let fall on Mabel.
"Mabel, you don't mean to quarrel with them do you?"
It seemed that the worst would happen if that happened.