Lady Aviolet, however, possessed no talent for transmitting such impressions.
“They were only married two years. She died when her baby was born, poor thing!”
“Were they very happy together?”
“I believe it was a very happy marriage. He was devoted to her, poor man. Everyone thought he was sure to marry again, if only for the poor little boy’s sake, but he has never shown any signs of doing so.”
“It must have been dreadful for him, losing her. What was she like?”
“She was very pretty,” repeated Lady Aviolet, a little helplessly. “Tall and slim, with brown, curly hair and very dark blue eyes. Quite an unusual type, in fact.”
“What else?”
“How do you mean, my dear? She wasn’t clever, or anything like that, so far as I know. Lady Cowderham was her aunt, and used to take her about before she married. She was the same age as Lady Cowderham’s own girl, who afterwards married one of the Troyles of Lawley—the second son, I think it was.”
They had got back to names and categories again. Rose ceased to feel any interest in what her companion was saying, and therefore, after her wont, ceased to pay any attention to it. Lady Aviolet, naturally, was not thereby encouraged to proceed with her observations and they drove on for a time in silence.
Rose felt pleased and excited by the idea of her friendship with Laurence Charlesbury. She found him attractive, and she had been long enough removed from admiration to welcome it with passionate eagerness.