And Rose, no wiser than before, for the fifth time could think of no more brilliant rejoinder than “Oh!”
She was, however, pleased at the thought of a party, and went to London and bought two new dresses and a new hat, wishing regretfully that she dared buy coloured things instead of black ones.
On the last day of August Diana Grierson-Amberly arrived. Rose, at first sight of her, sweepingly decided that she was neither smart nor pretty, and, even more rashly, that in the absence of either of these attributes, she could not be very interesting. She willingly conceded, however, that Diana was “nice” when she heard her speak pleasantly to little Cecil, who was allowed to have tea in the hall with his governess.
The attraction that Miss Grierson-Amberly possessed for a small proportion of her fellow-countrymen, although unappreciated by Rose Aviolet, was very far from being non-existent.
Tall and fair, with a typically English face and figure, she looked exactly what Lady Aviolet had said that she was—very good at games. Her chest was as flat as her back, her feet and hands rather large, her face pleasantly vacant, with a beautiful fresh complexion, blue eyes, and a soft mouth that was always slightly open. Rose envied her the perfect self-possession with which she answered Lady Aviolet’s questions, patting and fondling Pug—but not feeding him from the table, a practice that invariably annoyed Sir Thomas when surreptitiously attempted by Cecil’s governess—and returning Ford’s greeting with pleasant, cousinly calm.
“How d’ye do, Diana.”
“How are you, Ford.”
They shook hands, with a momentary exchange of smiles.
“Are you coming out with us to-morrow?”
“Oh, no. I’m not allowed to go out with a gun, really, except with father and the boys.”