CHAPTER XVI THE WHITE FLOWERS
Surely enough, when Ralph Ravenspur came into the great hall, where tea was being served, he was wearing a pair of dark glasses, with gold rims. Slight as the alteration was in itself, it changed him almost beyond recognition. He had been doing something to his face also, for the disfiguring scar had practically disappeared. As he came feeling his way to a chair, the slight thread of conversation snapped altogether.
"Don't mind me," he said quietly. "You will get used to the change, and you cannot deny it is a change for the better. One of the causes leading to this vanity was a remark I overheard on the part of one of the servants. She expressed the opinion that I should look better in glasses. That opinion I shared. I have no doubt the maid was correct."
All this was uttered in the dry, soft, caustic manner Ralph constantly affected. Nobody answered, mostly because it was assumed that no reply was expected. With a cup of tea in his hand Ralph began to speak of other things.
Leading from the hall was a big conservatory. Here Marion was busy among her flowers. She was singing gently as she snipped a bud here and there, and Vera was helping her. Curled up in a leisure chair, Geoffrey was absorbed in a book. The smoke from his cigarette circled round his head.
Ralph placed his cup down again and felt his way into the conservatory. He stood in the doorway listening to the controversy going on beyond.
"I don't fancy I shall like it," said Vera. "It will be too cold, too funereal."
"My dear child," Marion cried, "then we will abandon the idea. Only don't forget that it was your own suggestion. You said it would look chaste."
"Did I really! Then I had forgotten about it. And we are not going to abandon the idea. It shall not be said that I change my mind like a weathercock. The flowers on the dinner table to-night are all going to be white."