“Well, it is, in a way. Of course there was always a lot going on in Ceylon.”
“I believe these Indian hill-stations are very gay,” Lady Aviolet assented. Nothing had ever succeeded in making her remember that “India” could not cover the whole of the East.
“Ceylon isn’t India,” said Rose bluntly.
She thought Lady Aviolet a fool, and her tone said as much.
“Gaieties are naturally out of the question, but we thought of asking one or two people here for the shooting. I don’t think you’ve met Diana Grierson-Amberly, a young cousin of mine. Her father has a nice old place on the far side of the county. She generally pays us a visit in the autumn.”
Rose, utterly inexperienced in the catch-words used in polite society, could think of no reply, and therefore said blankly: “Oh!”
Lady Aviolet sighed, and went on knitting. Rose’s hands lay idle in her lap. She knew how to make her own underclothes, and how to darn stockings, but considered the practice of either art unfitted to the Squires’ drawing-room. She did not knit, because she did not know what to make, and had often speculated as to the destination of Lady Aviolet’s innumerable woolly garments.
“Diana is wonderfully musical, and plays the violin a great deal.”
“Oh, does she?”
“She was always a great friend of the boys, although she is a good many years younger. She is so good at games.”