“I should have liked to have seen them driving with Ouida in Florence—the Italians saying, bella, bella, when they passed them, and Ouida graciously bowing and taking it as a tribute to herself.”
“I know! And then they....”
Then Concha strolled in, and Rory immediately broke off his sentence, jumped up eagerly, and cried, “Grant and Cockburn, please—four buttons, lilac.”
“What’s all this about?” said Arnold.
“Oh! I bet her a pair of spats last night that I’d be down to breakfast before her. Tea or coffee? I say, I suddenly remembered in the middle of the night the name of that priceless book I was telling you about; it’s Strawberry Leaves, by A. Leaf—I’ll try to get it for you.”
Evidently the “angel Intimacy” had been very busy last night after Teresa had gone to bed.
Then the Doña appeared—to the surprise of her daughters, as she generally breakfasted in her room.
Her appearance was a protest. Dick had decided (most unnecessarily, she considered) to have a cold and a day in bed.
Her eye immediately fell on Teresa, and in a swift, humorous glance from top to toe she took in all the details of her toilette.
“Thank you very much, but I prefer helping myself,” she said curtly to Rory; his attentiveness seemed to her a direct reflection on Arnold, who never waited on any one. Nor did she encourage his attempts at conversation. “I have been telling Miss Concha....” “I do hope you’ll take me round the garden—I know all about that sort of thing, I do really.”