“Rotten.”
“I’m very fond of Cousin Catherine, and all of them, and they’ve been perfectly sweet to me, always, but Mother says, and I must say I agree with her—that those arrangements are always rather a risk.”
“I should think so.”
“I’ve got heaps of ideas for furnishing. You must help me choose the chintzes and things, won’t you?”
“I’d love to,” said Rose, gratified.
She was ready to take an eager interest in their selection, and in fact did so, but the violent blues and purples that she admired accorded ill with the blended art-shades preferred by Diana. They agreed better over the furniture, for Rose had imbibed from Uncle Alfred a genuine respect for what she termed “the antiques line” and Diana shared Ford’s fondness for picking up possible bargains in second-hand shops.
Once or twice Rose accompanied the bride-elect on such expeditions when Ford was not available. She felt herself to have done Diana a service by arguing so violently with the old proprietor of the curiosity-shop they visited that he at last parted with the Empire gilt mirror selected by Diana for a price that was very little above its intrinsic value.
Diana, however, seemed more embarrassed than obliged, and did not again invite Rose to shop with her.
It was finally arranged that the wedding should take place early in June, and Diana lost herself in a maze of letter-writing, consulting of catalogues, and trying-on of clothes.
She paid another visit to Squires three weeks before the date of her wedding, and declared her intention of having a thorough rest.