“You think a lot of Enid, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do!” said Miss Mell.
There was a pause.
“Well—do you like—him?” asked Rosaleen.
“No,” said Miss Mell. “Not much. And don’t you, either!”
But Rosaleen couldn’t help liking him!
He didn’t come up the next afternoon. Rosaleen, going out on an errand, had of course to pass the door of his studio on the floor below, and from within she heard a most pleasant sound of feminine voices, gay, light, well-bred voices. On her way in again, she had paused for just a moment outside that door, and the hidden festivity was still going on; she heard the clink of silver on china, and those nice voices again. Later on, from the window upstairs, she saw a motor car glide up to the door in the dusk and stand there waiting, until finally two exquisitely dressed women came out and entered it, escorted gallantly by Lawrence Iverson. They drove off, leaving him standing bare-headed in the street.
IV
Miss Waters had become terribly excited when Rosaleen told her.
“My dear! Not Lawrence Iverson! Right in the same house! Isn’t that marvellous! Now tell me all about him!”