“Mrs. Mearely, do come aside a moment. I must ask you something.” Mrs. Witherby took Rosamond firmly by the arm.
“It is my dress she is after!” Rosamond thought. “Ask; I’m all attention,” she said.
“Your gown. Do tell me now, have you put off all—even the smallest hint—of mourning?... Permanently?” She added the last word with heavy emphasis.
“Yes. Even to the last, smallest hint. Permanently.”
“Indeed? Indeed?”
“Yes. Indeed and indeed!”
“Of course, I felt sure you would not resent my questions. Though if any one else asked you, you might ask, in return, what business it was of theirs. And I, for one, should back you up in that; for, if there is one thing above another which I neither can nor will tolerate, it is inquisitiveness. Why pry into the affairs of others? Whose business is it but their own? That is what I say. All Roseborough knows what I think about busybodying and gossip.”
“Yes; that is very true. All Roseborough knows.... By the way, Roseborough has behaved beautifully to my mourning, never resenting that it shadowed the pleasure of teas and little gatherings, when—er—joy should have been unconfined. I am showing Roseborough how well I understand it, and how grateful I am for its forbearance, by returning to colours—the brightest and cheeriest I can select.” She beamed sweetly.
“Oh!—oh-h? Really?” Mrs. Witherby felt her sails slacken as the wind was taken out of them.
“To-morrow, at Mrs. Lee’s breakfast, I shall wear white—a very simple frock. But to-night I have put this one on, to introduce myself in my new character—first, to you and Mrs. Lee and our closest intimates. You can understand how I would naturally do so?” She smiled again, more sweetly.