“We can think about it when the time comes. He won’t be ready for another five or six months, perhaps not even then.”
Lady Aviolet spoke with the same perfect placidity.
“I’ll never consent.”
“Indeed, my dear? We must talk it over and see if we can persuade you to alter your views. Meanwhile, I think we’d better go to bed.”
The anti-climax seemed to madden Rose.
“I’ll discuss it now, while you’re all here. I’m not going on day after day with this hanging over me. We’ll have it out now, and have done with it.”
Whether by accident or design, she was standing in a direct line with the big double-doors that Lucian had closed, so that no one could easily go out.
“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss,” said Lady Aviolet. “But if you propose to keep us all out of our beds, Rose, perhaps someone will be good enough to reach me my knitting. It’s on the little table. Thank you, Diana.”
The girl was hesitating, as though wondering whether to leave the room, but the elder woman invited her, with an amiable gesture, to remain beside her.
She took up the scarlet mass of wool and began unhurriedly to ply the wooden needles. From time to time she counted stitches, half under her breath.