Rather dull for John, Joey thought, as she followed her cousin obediently along corridors and downstairs to the dining-room. She would have liked to ask about him, and whether he would soon be better, but was afraid of seeming inquisitive, so left Gracie and Miss Richards to make polite conversation.
In the dining-room she was presented to Colonel Sturt, who was bald and rather morose, and gave her two fingers only when she shook hands. Then Cousin Greta motioned Joey to a chair on her own right, and luncheon began.
It was a very grand luncheon; mindful of what Gabrielle had said, Joey stored up an exact description of the mayonnaise and roast chickens, the cold sirloin and wonderful salad, the trifle, meringues and apricot-jam tartlets; they at least would be something to tell the girls about.
Cousin Greta saw to it that Joey made an excellent meal, but it was certainly a dull one. Colonel Sturt was upset by something he had read in his paper about Germans creeping back into the country; and Gracie was almost as obviously annoyed by her mother's refusal to let her do something or other that she wanted that afternoon. She did talk to Joey a little, but the two years between them seemed to make an impossible gulf, Joey thought. It was really rather a comfort when the long, grand luncheon was over, even though Cousin Greta swept Joey off to her own room for "a little talk"—rather an alarming suggestion.
Cousin Greta's room was a world of looking-glasses; Joey saw her own slim self reflected everywhere—a self who looked oddly spruce and tidy in the dark green velveteen best frock of Redlands, and with her mass of fair hair tied neatly back with a dark green bow. Her brown eyes under black lashes looked rather seriously back at this new tidy self reflected.
Cousin Greta came behind Joey and laid two hands on her shoulders.
"And now, barring the clothes, you know how your dear father used to look when he came to us for his holidays," she said, and Joey felt sorry for Cousin Greta suddenly, and as though she were minding a good deal about Father under all her cold, languid ways.
"I'm glad I'm like," she said, "though he wanted us all to be like Mums. But I'll never be anything like him in splendidness, worse luck; now the war is over, there isn't even a chance of serving your country."
Cousin Greta shivered. "My dear child, don't talk as though you were sorry this ghastly war is over!" which was one of the speeches that set Joey's teeth on edge, and were impossible to answer.
She said no more, and Cousin Greta took a tremendous box of chocolates from the chest of drawers and told Joey she was to take them back with her to school. Then she mentioned that she always rested for an hour after luncheon, and did Joey think she could find her way back to the schoolroom, where she would find Gracie? Joey thanked Cousin Greta, and was sure she could, and in due course, and after taking two or three wrong turnings, she found herself back at the schoolroom door.