“Indeed, I cannot claim anything like Mrs. Aviolet’s acquaintance with Ceylon. I have never had a stay of more than twenty-four hours there, much as I should have liked it. Like the wretched traveller of the song ‘From place to place they hurry me—and think that I forget,’ which is only too true. It takes years in a place to retain any real impression of it. Now you, Mrs. Aviolet, are young, and I am sure have a most excellent memory. Your description of life in the East would have the true, authentic ring about it, whereas mine could only be an imperfect hash of muddled recollections.”
His speech gave Rose time to collect herself. But it was her vivid recognition of the kindliness that had prompted it, which made her conscious of an ardent rush of intense gratitude at the restoration of her self-esteem.
With candid rudeness, she deliberately moved her chair round so that her back was turned to Ford.
No flicker of expression betrayed whether or not Lord Charlesbury took note of this unusual form of social repartee.
He continued to talk in his low, cultivated tones, every now and then appealing to Rose’s judgment and always listening, interested and deferential, to her replies.
She found him delightful, and was entirely undisturbed by any realization of the fact that she was monopolizing the principal guest present.
Her inexperience did not even perceive that it was he who presently contrived to include their hostess in the conversation.
She went up to her room to dress for dinner with the pleasant consciousness, strange to her since she had come to Squires, of having been a success.
“It’s only Ford that always tries to make a fool of me,” was her self-consolatory résumé of the unfortunate moment when she had been abruptly arrested in her description of Ceylon.
As soon as she was dressed, Rose went upstairs, two steps at a time as she always did, to wish Cecil good-night.