"The more the merrier," said Julian rather gloomily.
"I've got Miss Marchrose to come, so we shall be even numbers," said Mark cheerfully.
"Good."
"You should have let me know," murmured Edna gently. "She may perhaps want keeping in countenance a little, as regards evening dress. I could so easily have put on a high gown."
Regrets on the score of Edna's modest and extremely becoming décolletage, half shrouded in tulle, proved unnecessary.
Miss Iris Easter was in full dinner-dress, of a rose colour that enhanced her extreme fairness and prettiness.
Small as was Julian's admiration for her personality, he was always struck afresh at the sight of her, at the size of her enormous eyes—as nearly violet as any eyes outside the pages of a novel—her crinkled, fluffy hair, her general delicacy of form and feature. Even the misguided instinct which had led her to outline a charming upper lip with sealing-wax red could not detract from her porcelain prettiness.
She was the possessor of a high, youthful, lisping voice that always reminded Julian of the adjective "fluted," and a pronunciation that is best indicated by the fact that she always pronounced her own name as though it were spelt "heiress."
At the sight of Lady Rossiter she cried:
"Eoh! heow blessed to see you again, dear Lady Rahsittur!" and almost similarly greeted Sir Julian, with her head very much on one side.