“Excellent. A deep draught of music is just what I want. Anyone good coming down? I suppose so, or Nina wouldn’t condescend.”
“Some violinist—I can’t remember his name.”
“You wouldn’t!” laughed Bertha. “Well, my dear, that’ll be very jolly. I love an outing, and there’ll be plenty of room in the car for all of us.”
“Mrs. Severing was kind enough to suggest my coming too—room for a small one,” said Minnie agitatedly. “Of course I said it wasn’t to be thought of for a moment.”
“Minnie, you know you like music, and you always go with us to any decent concert at Polwerrow,” said Bertha patiently. “Of course you’ll come.”
Under cover of the protests, incoherent objections, and final yielding, which were always part and parcel of any invitation issued to and accepted by Miss Blandflower, Rosamund and Frances made their escape.
Their long talk together left Frances very happy. She gave Rosamund no such confidence as that sudden, unpremeditated one which had been drawn from her by Hazel’s matter of fact suggestion, but nevertheless she was all but unconscious of any reticence.
It was to Rosamund that she could best pour out the story of her new experiences, and the fullness of Rosamund’s sympathy gave no hint of any sense of exclusion.
If a division of the ways had been reached neither was conscious of it. To Rosamund, her sister’s happiness, in itself unintelligible, became merely a subject for rejoicing, and the ready congratulations she gave out of her affection needed no deeper source to fill Frances with tender gratitude.
They drew nearer together in the very difference that might have separated them for a time.