Edith gasped in the grip of this genial whirlwind of a girl.
"You are quite right, Elizabeth," she said; "and—and there's nobody like him. I should have come up to talk to you last night, but mother said you would be tired. How did you guess? It was quick of you."
Elizabeth laughed.
"Not very, dear!" she said. "You looked as if—as if you were in church. And as you weren't, it was obvious you were in love. 'Mr. Holroyd'—you said it like that, like an 'Amen.' My dear, what fun! But I do hope he's good enough for you, and attractive enough. A man has to be so tremendously attractive to make up for being a man at all, with their tufts of hair all over their faces. Of course, I shall never marry at all. I shall——Oh dear, I've begun to talk about myself, and really I'm not the least interested in myself. Tell me straight off all about Cousin Edward."
This was a task of which Edith was hopelessly incapable. She could no more talk about him than she could talk about religion. Reticent at all times, on this subject her inability to speak amounted almost to dumbness. Her thoughts, unable not to hover round him, were equally unable to alight, to be put into words. The very thought of speaking of him embarrassed her.
"Quick!" said Elizabeth, putting her arm round her.
"I can't! I can't say anything about him except that he is he. You must see for yourself. But oh, Elizabeth, fancy his wanting me! And fancy that when he asked me first I didn't really care. But very soon I began to care, and now I care for him more than anything. If I go on like this I shall begin not to care about anybody else. Oh, there is the gong; that is for the motor. You must go. But in the interval I think you are a dear. I care for you."
Edith got up, hearing the sonorous Chinese music, but Elizabeth pulled her back to her seat again.
"Surely the motor can wait five minutes," she said. "We are beginning to know each other."
"But mother doesn't like waiting," said Edith.